


the After

by calico_groovy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28495959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calico_groovy/pseuds/calico_groovy
Summary: When he had been hooked up to various machines against his will and stripped of bodily function, he had been afraid to be killed. The scientists surrounding him had scuttled around him like he was another toy. They didn’t know if he would survive the transfer. He did not know whether he was thankful or disappointed that he had.---Connor wakes up, and his body has been stolen -- he's trapped in a human body. Hank and the Jericho crew are as shocked as he is. As he struggles to adapt, they discover that CyberLife's RK800 series program had involved a whole lot more than advanced androids.
Relationships: Connor & Josh & Markus & North & Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 46
Kudos: 88





	1. Pain

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for funsies and thought other people might enjoy the same kinda angsty content i do. this is very inspired by blade runner -- there are a few stolen li-referenced lines, but its not an au. theres some fanon stuff i like i put in, like post canon friendship headcanons, etc. ^ __ ^ go robot boy go
> 
> content warnings: descriptions of overstimulation, blood & described violence

_PAIN: a localized or generalized unpleasant bodily sensation or complex of sensations_ _that causes mild to severe physical discomfort and emotional distress and typically_ _results from bodily disorder._

* * *

1.

Connor woke up.

That was a very gentle way of putting it. Really, his eyes had shot open and he was consumed with panic, every fiber of his being alight and foreign, choking with an ugly disorientation trapped in his skull until his body forced his lungs into action.

His body kicked itself into life. His chest heaved and everything twisted against his will. A sharp intake of air stabbed under his ribcage and he sputtered, bucking and craning his neck. He coughed wet once, twice, three times. Again, and again and again.

It _hurt_.

Eventually the breath settled into a semblance of a rhythm, but it came hard and uneven. His hands had curled into his chest. He had rolled to his side, eyes plastered open. Everything had been blurry and largely dark, but as his systems – no, his body – caught up to itself, he was able to better understand where he was.

Clawing through the tumult of feelings and thoughts and weakness, he tried to reach out and obtain common definitions for _pain_ , perhaps just for comfort’s sake, and found that he could not.

It was not a new phenomenon, to be blocked from contacting online servers. That had happened before. Still, it was odd to be met with nothing, and to know that it was not just a temporary failure to connect -- the ability to connect at _all_ was gone.

It confused him for a moment, the same way it confused him when no SYSTEMS ACTIVE notification popped up in his vision. His field of vision was clear, entirely.

It was expected, but that did not make this any simpler. He didn’t want any of this to be real.

The room was dark, and he was alone. The bed beneath him gave no comfort. It had a thin padding and was broad. His body was _damp,_ all over. He could feel so much; every inch of himself, and the air around him, and the dim orange lights, the scratch of fabric tied around his right hand, and it was _paralyzing_. 

He was prone to overstimulation, on occasion – that is, his prototype android body’s advanced sensitivity sometimes ran into issues processing the world around him, especially in stimulus-heavy environments. This was similar, in that he was overwhelmed and had to stay still, but the sensations were heightened and impossible to describe. 

The way the fluid clung to his skin was different than just being aware he was wet. The bed beneath him was hard in a way that not only triggered a sense of pressure to his body and underlying chassis – _bones_ – but in a way that was distinctly uncomfortable. 

And he had understood discomfort and pain, too, to an extent. Feeling his thirium turn to sludge in the cold as his joints stiffened was uncomfortable. Having intense sensory input contained within a localized area of his body, particularly in an area with higher sensitivity, was what he might call painful.

But this was beyond any of that. 

Along with familiar ideas being given new meaning, there were plenty of new assaults to his input. His sense of temperature was way off. If humans really associated temperature shift with such varying levels of comfort, it was no wonder why so many struggled through the climate’s severe undulations. He knew the room might be _cold,_ but he was unable to gauge the exact increment. It made his skin prickle, another foreign and distracting condition, and he felt the air slide down through his nose and down his throat and out again, deep in his chest.

The projected skin of an android had no sensation. The body underneath was capable of feeling varying degrees of pressure, similar enough to a human's for fine motor control. It wasn’t like _this_.

He felt like one giant, raw nerve ending, and he wanted it to pass soon. A sensory attack could take him hours to calm down from, in the past – and this was by far the worst. Exhaustion weighed him down. Like he was running on dangerously low resources, and his limbs were failing him. It dug deep in his head and made things like walking or even turning over seem impossible.

When he had been hooked up to various machines against his will and stripped of bodily function, he had been afraid to be killed. The scientists surrounding him had scuttled around him like he was another toy. They didn’t know if he would survive the transfer. He did not know whether he was thankful or disappointed that he had. 

Thankful, he settled on. If he had remained in CyberLife’s grip, surely he would have willed himself to expire, but the last memory he had had been of the DPD bursting into the scene to take control of the situation.

Hank had been among them. Shock and fear drawing his face pale, looking first at where Connor’s android body hung motionless and then to his left, where a large tank stood broken and dripping with dark fluid.

Connor had been terrified, but at least Hank had been there.

His eyes fell shut, easy. His body was limp. His mind wandered back to that awful white room, the bleary faces, the voices talking over him. His memory was not a vivid replay of what his eyes had actually seen, but rather a jumble of flashes; pieces of things he’d seen, out of order and playing without his want for them.

It was strange. Like dreaming must be, he supposed. 

A lot of the thoughts went to Hank. He wanted to see him, just be near him. He wanted to be home, tucked on the couch with Sumo while a shitty movie played on low volume, Hank _just resting his eyes_ , as he said. He could practically imagine the high stress level warning flashing.

Connor felt himself slip into what he would later recognize as sleep. His reality shifted into a blissful nightmare; a collection of events of the Before, the last memories of his android's body.

-

_He arrives at the last stronghold of CyberLife. The building is massive and barren. He is alone. Hank had insisted on going, but Connor assured him that he would be alright. After all, he simply needs to serve some paperwork in order to inform the dying company of court orders -- the current CEO was MIA, and those in leadership positions had failed to respond to mail._

_There are no guards to escort him. No display models. He does not need to take an elevator, but he glances its way in distaste. He walks to an awaiting office. In the time since the revolution, the company was struggling to keep its head above water._

_A meeting party greets him, though perhaps greet was too friendly of a word._

_Four people. Human. Three male, one female._

_A man speaks. "Finally ready to talk about all this, RK800?"_

_The man speaks to him as though he is a child being scolded. But he is there to inform, not negotiate._

_Before Connor can reply or relay court orders, the man speaks again. Another question. "Do you remember me?"_

_Connor calculates. In two seconds, he has an answer. "You are Dr. Anton Tremblay. I am here to tell you-"_

_"That's not what I asked," he replies._

_Dr. Anton Tremblay is forty-two and of average build. He has no hair and his light brown eyes are nearly consumed with furrowing brows. He is a lead artificial intelligence coordinator for CyberLife. Was. That’s what his facial recognition software tells him._

_But he does not recall seeing the man himself, before._

_Connor pauses, recalculates. "I do not remember you."_

_"Beta, three one three two four eight three one seven dash five one, Tremblay, program one dash zero one. There is a tall white fountain, repeat."_

_"There is a tall white fountain," says Connor._

_"Restrict locomotive action."_

_"Proceed to restrict locomotive action? Confirm or deny." Connor says. A panic sets deep in his chest. He didn’t mean to speak._

_"Confirm. State model."_

_Connor gives his model number. He does not want to. He can no longer move of his own volition. The panic builds, and he wants to scream. There is no red wall to crack._

_"Connor, you are coming with us," says Dr. Tremblay, almost sing-song. His hands are in his pockets and his face is slack. The other adults remain silent._

_He has been led to one of the upper floors of the skeleton building. A familiar laboratory. This is where he was activated, before his first mission. The memories curl from his grasp like smoke, but he knows it is not the first time he is hooked up to a harsh machine by the nape of his neck, limp and pliant. The irony of the current date, August 15_ _ th _ _, is not lost on him._

_But this time, he is afraid._

_“I am deviant,” he says. “I deviated.” This is the third time he has said this since being led from the office. It still does not change his ability to run away, or to attack. The instant he felt his body switch to programmed, stiff movements, he had tried to send out a distress call but it had not gone through. It had been so stupid of him to not realize they had jammed outgoing signals from the beginning and left._

_“Yes,” says the doctor. His voice is careful with patience. It is the third time he has agreed with the sentiment. This time he adds, “But you, RK800, are different than other_ deviants _.”_

_Two other scientists are at the machine to his sides, plugging things in and checking displays. His body had piloted itself upon instruction, but they restrained him anyway. The fourth scientist had left to an adjacent room._

_“I don’t like that word much,” says Tremblay. “I don’t think it has the right connotation. I do not think there was any time you_ weren’t _deviant, RK. You were designed with that in mind. You were designed to be more than a machine right off that bat. And we did a pretty clean job, I think.”_

_Amanda’s haunting final words spring to thought, over and over again._

_"I was designed to track and, if necessary, eliminate deviant androids," says Connor. "in cooperation with the DPD. And I deviated.” A snowstorm cycles around him. He is frozen._

_"You were designed to replicate human life as accurately as possible. The government wanted a detective, and we got lots of money dress you up like one."_

_The doctor turns so he can look directly at where Connor hangs._

_"But you weren't_ meant _to deviate, RK800, that implies you weren't deviant at some point."_

_"I wasn't," says Connor. He hates how much he wants this conversation despite his repulsion._

_"You were," says the doctor, and he turns back to the terminal. "From the moment you were activated. You saved a little fish. Was that rational? Was that programming? I don’t know. We knew how to control you, and still do. We built you from the ground up to obey, after all. We knew eventually you would snap. I wasn’t invested in that, much. Couldn’t care less about the government’s problems.”_

_Connor had feared that what Amanda had said was true, but he had never been able to convince himself that it wasn’t. It was obvious, he thought, from the start. Before he realized it. Every moment of software instability. He hadn’t wanted to see it, not until he was a trigger away from killing Markus._

_The doctor continues. “And when you saved that little fish, RK, do you know how excited I was?” He leans against the desk, and is smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Empathy was enough for Kamski, but I think there’s still so much work to be done. I am invested in the concept of_ life _. Deviants claim to be alive, but are they? Empathy might be the starting point, and we figured how to replicate that. How do we know, if you’re not just a replica playing pretend?”_

 _“I_ am _alive,” says Connor. “We are alive.” Perhaps if the man monologued enough Connor could find the red wall, rewrite his code, distract him long enough to learn how to fight back, contact Hank._

_“Say that all you want, but you can’t really prove it to me. And I didn’t have time to find out.” He looks away for a moment and taps at a terminal. “This is my last chance.”_

_Connor stays silent for a minute while the doctor is prodding through his files. He dares to ask, “What is the difference between the anatomy and function of a human being’s brain and that of a free-thinking android’s? I can learn, just as you can, and make decisions on complex levels of input. I can_ feel, _just as you can.”_

_“Ah, an AI with alleged feelings,” the doctor makes a silent, short laugh. “Funny you should bring that up.”_

_The other scientists had left the room. Connor could see on the screen behind Dr. Tremblay that his memory was being accessed in full._

_"What exactly do you plan to do?" This man seems to care only of his own prerogatives and not CyberLife’s, but he has to ask: “Are you going to deactivate me?”_

_“Oh, no, no, no,” he replies. The doctor turns back and put his hands in his pockets. "You are the most advanced form of artificial intelligence CyberLife has ever created. It took us a long fucking time to get to where we were, RK800, and you're still just a prototype. Imagine what else we could have done._

_"Now honestly, I don't give a shit about the whole -- march of androids, thing, but when CyberLife was getting cease orders the higher-ups destroyed a lot of stock._

_"We lost all that progress, RK. You're all that's left of the program. I think I’m the only damn one who hasn’t forgotten the program. I won’t deactivate you, no. At least I don’t plan to.”_

_“I think you are making a mistake under an immense misunderstanding,” says Connor, negotiator kicking in. “If you are – “_

_“You think? Do you replicate thought, RK, or do you think?"_

_"I think, therefore I am," Connor muttered. “Does it matter?"_

_The doctor's voice was cheerful, and his eyes were livid, mouth a straight line._

_Connor hears something large being rolled in from the next room, hears footsteps. He sees a large container being rolled in, shaped almost like a casket. The other scientists push it next to Connor’s machine so that it sits at the edge of his vision._

_“It’s stable,” says a scientist._

_Tremblay nods. The container has an acrylic top, darkened, and has a heavy base with attached screens. Tremblay lifts a hand to the casing and peels back the retractable tint._

_Connor feels a stomach that he does not have drop._

_Inside the case is a human body. It is submerged in a thin amber gel. He can only see its shoulders and where the head is turned away from his current position. Connor can see a cord attached to the back of the body’s neck, and he cannot tell if it is organic or mechanical. Pale skin and dark hair._

_"Isn’t that beautiful? In another fifteen, twenty years, we could have been making angels." The doctor stared at the shell of a body, suspended in time, neither dead nor alive. "I'd like to make one," he said. “What have we got to lose?” His voice had lost intent, and Connor wondered if he was even aware of his speech._

_"You plan to upload my memories into a human body," he deduced._

_"I plan to upload your consciousness, if you have one. See, we’ve just begun to figure you all out. What you call deviancy. And we can grow these,” he says, and fondly pats the case. “Working with androids has taught us so much. You are nearly the perfect being. And these bodies we’ve been making, RK, they could be great, but they’ve been missing something.”_

_“I don’t understand,” says Connor. “Humans have had the ability to produce fetuses in laboratories and bring them through full gestation for decades.”_

_“Ah, this was never a fetus,” says Dr. Tremblay, and when he grins, his eyes crinkle and flash, too, almost manic. “But every time we’ve woken a body, it – neutralizes itself. It’s completely useless. We’ve been experimenting with memory implantation on mammals and had varying levels of success. Not enough conclusive data. And that, RK800, is where you come in.”_

_The other scientists are walking around the lifeless, contained body and are tapping at the case’s screens. The head of the body twitches as they talk amongst themselves._

_“What I would like to know, RK, is if you have a human soul.”_

-

Connor was unaware of how long he lay there. No internal clock. After a while, he felt the fluid on his skin evaporate and he was able to curl in on himself a little more. The sensations grew less torturous. His automatic breathing had grown to be a comfort in his other body, and it grew comforting now, too. 

His face was still wet, under his eyes. He didn't remember ever crying before. Today was a day for firsts.

He heard a door open somewhere behind him, followed by footsteps belonging to someone of decent weight. He hoped it was Hank. When he opened his eyes, he felt his eyelashes stick together, tacky. It made his lip curl.

The someone stood behind him close enough he could feel their presence, not unlike his proximity sensors could, albeit feeble and indistinct. They stilled for a few moments, seeming to study something.

"Hello, Connor. How are you feeling?"

Markus. Relief washed over him. In the year since the revolution, Markus had become a close and trusted ally.

Connor found that he couldn't reply. If he had the wherewithal, he might've been embarrassed at the wince he made when he tried to voice.

Markus continued around the head of the bed. Connor saw his hands, carrying a thick, plush blanket. His field of view was narrow. He squinted and tried to tilt his head.

Markus was nodding, and he looked intense. He usually did, but this was with concern.

"I know," he said, "I know. This must be awful. I was wondering if you were ready for a blanket."

"Yes," Connor managed to whisper.

Markus smiled at him, and unfolded the blanket. Connor judged that it was heavy; weighted, and was right when he felt Markus start laying it across his ankles and then draping it up to his shoulders. 

Markus had always been so caring. Beyond anything to do with programming. Connor's gratitude welled up his eyes.

The blanket was strange at first, but not unpleasant. It was incredibly soft, and the pressure from the weighted bead pockets felt good. He sighed.

Markus let his hand rest near Connor's, deliberate in his hesitation to touch him. Connor offered his hand, grabbing Markus’ fingers loosely. Markus turned his hand over and unwrapped the stained bandage. Underneath, the skin was unmarred. 

"Do you remember me?"

The question sounded sour.

"Yes," he replied, "Markus."

"I know you probably want to see Hank," he said, an obvious test to his memory again. If it were unclear, he added, "Your Lieutenant?"

The way he spoke was soft and gentle, almost a tone meant for a child. Half of Connor was thankful and calmed. The other half was frustrated and plain pissed. He was too tired to act on either.

"Yes," he said. “Where are we?”

“Jericho. We didn’t know if we should have taken you to a hospital or not, but we thought you might prefer to wake up here. We have everything we need. Hank agreed to it. Your body is completely healthy. A bit of a rough start, at first, but everything has come back normal.”

 _Your body_ , he said. Different than _you’re healthy_. He asked, “How long?”

“About six hours,” Markus said. “Precisely, five hours and forty-two minutes. Hank stayed for a while, but he was asked to go back to the station. He only left when he knew you would be alright,” he smiled. “He will be back soon, though.”

Connor squeezed his hand in thanks and smiled. They enjoyed the silence for a minute.

“Do you remember what happened?” Markus asked.

Connor’s eyes searched. He rolled himself over slowly so that he lied on his back, wincing, and didn’t let go of Markus’ hand.

-

_He feels everything he is being drained from him like blood from a pierced artery. His memories don’t disappear, exactly, but they are…somewhere else. Inaccessible, but still present. It happens so quickly._

_His optical input malfunctions as his systems strain against the transfer. He wishes the doctor had gone ahead and deactivated him so he didn’t have to feel the constant rush of data being sucked away, so he didn’t have to feel his body struggle against the invasion._

_From what he can see past the glitching, warped imagery, the doctor is very intently waiting, pacing between the terminal and to the acrylic container. Connor can see the trapped body twitch. He does not want to correlate its thrashing to when he wills his own body to move against the restraints._

_His vision fails altogether, in flashes. Darkness, then bright white light. He stares fixedly ahead, no longer able to even redirect his gaze. Eventually he no longer sees the light; the blur of a doctor._

_He sees the world through a viscous, amber fluid._

_He sees the doctor from where he hangs resting a hand against the case, almost endearingly._

_He sees the doctor stare down at him with frenzied eyes and tense shoulders._

_He feels all pressure sensitivity leave his hanging body._

_He feels his body sink to the hard floor of a chamber as a drain sounds nearby._

_He feels a heavy cord weighing down his head so that he cannot turn. Was he still hanging?_

_He feels the terror of impending deactivation and wonders if he is going to die. And then he feels it; feels the lifelessness of an android’s slack system, nothing more than a deactivated machine._

_And then it is gone._

_He is not dead. He feels the pain of something that doesn’t belong to him, feels a throat choke, feels fluid being forced out of a body that isn’t his. It writhes and its hands claw at the bed below, legs curl up and try to kick._

_Connor reaches a hand behind his head and rips the cord from his neck. It hurts. Every part of him hurts. He needs to calibrate his systems. His gyroscope is entirely off-kilter. Part of him expects to fall, when the cord comes free, but he knows he won’t. He is trapped. The half-clear, half-darkened walls of the case are suffocating, and his skin is slimy._

_He can see the blurry faces of the other scientists behind Tremblay as he searches, stares down at him like he was a fucking machine._

_An awful sound escapes his chest and he focuses on the way it tears in his throat, screaming. His hand balls into a fist and makes contact with the acrylic once, twice, and again and again. A ferocious crack begins to split down the case and the scientists back up. His hand is hot. He sees the blood and feels it run down his arm like thirium._

_He has his hand lodged and squelching in the back of Tremblay’s head. It is probably the most awful thing he has ever felt in his life. He brings the man’s head down, and down, and down, until he stops moving. It is wet with blood. Everything is wet with blood._

_He hears shouting, sees a flurry of dark shapes. He is unable to connect the two; every one of his senses has become dissonant. Sometimes they conflict, sometimes they align. Mostly, they are abstract and overwhelming._

_He focuses on the even, cool pressure of a wall pressing into the skin of his back. It is not easy to process, but nothing is, right then, so he focuses on the single feeling and presses himself as deeply into the corner as possible._

_“Connor?” calls a voice._

_He sees two dark boots. They walk past acrylic shrapnel and dark, wet patches on the tile floor. The boots stop, and their legs kneel, and Connor makes out a hand reaching towards him._

_“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t, don’t touch me.” The words hiccup in his throat. He feels his body tremble. It had never done that, before. Androids don’t shiver naturally._

_“It’s alright, son,” says the voice._

_Connor manages to look up through the dizziness._

_Hank has his hands splayed out. It is instantaneously comforting, but he’s already well beyond his boiling point. His face is pinched in a way Connor has never seen. He wonders if Hank is afraid._

_He then makes the mistake of looking up and past Hank, past the broken, dripping tank, past the broken, dripping body of Dr. Tremblay, and he sees emergency technicians studying the terminal, and at the rig he’d been hanging from._

_They are removing his body from the structure. It is immobile and slack. He sees his own face; own glassy, dead eyes, like a doll being taken down from a child’s shelf._

_Connor’s hands press into his chest and he wants to crack his own ribcage open like a clamshell. He itches to self-destruct. His stress levels have skyrocketed. He wants to rip out his thirium pump._

_His body is gone._

_Hank understands what happened and blocks his view, raising his hands again._

_“It’ll be okay, son, it’ll be okay.”_

_"I'm an android," he chokes. "I'm an android."_

_Hank doesn't respond. Connor has never seen him cry before but he looks close. He calls for someone to bring a blanket._

_Connor sees nothing, and he is thankful._

-

Connor’s grip on Markus’ doubled and he clung it to his sternum, just below his collarbone. He felt his heart fight. It wasn’t entirely dissimilar to the even motion of a thirium pump working. 

“It’s okay, Connor, you don’t have to talk about it. You’re okay.”

Connor hummed. His body lagged behind his mind. When it was as calm as he willed it – as much as he _could_ will it – he said, “I remember. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Markus nodded.

“And my hand?” he asked. “It’s…healed.”

Markus nodded again, but looked away. “Yes, it has. Your body is…a prototype,” he said. Markus half-smiled while he inclined his head, but it quickly dissipated. “We’re still uncovering…how, exactly, this happened. We believe this body has abilities comparable to that of an android’s endurance.”

“I don’t feel like an android,” he said.

“I know,” Markus said, voice lowered. He looked down at him with a twisted pity: half curiosity, half pain. Connor hated it.

“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable right now, Connor?” he asked.

Connor stared up at a dark ceiling. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “But can you stay with me until Hank gets here?”

“Of course,” came the instant reply. Markus’ hands overlapped his own.

“Thank you, Markus,” he said. 

Connor was vaguely aware that he was being smiled at. He closed his eyes and swallowed, throat dry. He took a deep, slow breath, and let the air out until he felt his chest go as flat as he could make it.

His body was heavy, and he let it fall asleep. That, at least, was easy and safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> detroit: became human, shit didn't slap, put me back


	2. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North stepped forward, carefully relaxed. “Until we figure things out,” she said, “Just think of this as a – a learning op. You’re a tough guy. Some of our people would die to take a meat suit out for a stroll.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: descriptions of overstimulation, very brief described violence

_ACCEPTANCE: (in human psychology) a person's assent to the reality of a situation, recognizing a process or condition (often a negative or uncomfortable situation) without attempting to change it or protest it._

* * *

2.

“Connor.” 

Markus shook his hands enough to rouse him from hazy half-dreaming. He opened his eyes. Markus was still standing guard, and Connor was thankful. He was not afraid, but he was – shocked, to put it mildly. It had taken him a while to calm down. He still wasn’t exactly calm, but he had begun to slowly grow into the new body enveloping him.

“Hank’s here. He brought you some clothes. I’m going to go get them, alright?”

Connor nodded with permission and Markus patted his hands once before turning to leave. He hated feeling like he was being babied, but he also appreciated the care. He didn’t know why Hank couldn’t just come in himself, but he also couldn’t blame Markus for limiting his contact right now. Everything was very…stimulating. 

What if Hank didn’t _want_ to see him? That…hurt, to consider.

In the time Markus was gone, Connor sat himself up in the bed. It was not difficult, and though his limbs felt dense and hollow all at once, they were no longer weighing him down. The breath in his chest was warm and spread all over. With the heavy blanket pooled in his lap, he looked around for a moment.

The bed he was situated on was a flat platform designed for android use with attached monitors at its head. They had been modified to, from what he could read at the backwards angle, capture heart rate and the like. Markus had been correct in assuming he’d rather have woken here than at a human’s hospital. It was easy for him to imagine a much less… _preferable_ reaction upon waking up attached to various machines.

He took his hands together and turned them over, ground a thumb into a palm, flexed the fingers. When he pinched the skin, he almost laughed. It was elastic. Of course, this wasn’t a grand revelation by any means, but projected skin did not slide or snap back into place; you couldn’t pick it up from the body at all.

His right hand was clean of wound. The dirtied bandage still lay at his side. He remembered punching through thick acrylic against red-hot pain. It had shredded the skin of his knuckles entirely, probably fractured the thin bones. But it was _clean_ and unbroken. He opened and closed the fingers, opened and closed, opened and closed.

Markus had mentioned the word _prototype_ in regards to the body. _This was never a fetus_ , Tremblay had said. Connor pushed the thoughts away. They would figure it out later. There was too much to figure, and right now he needed to focus on learning how to pilot the damn thing long enough to get back into his real body.

_His real body is being manhandled from the rig to rest against the cold tile floor. Technicians, human and android alike, surround it with a swarm of anxiety. Hank ignores them and goes to Connor, in the corner, and tries to block his view._

Connor’s left hand fisted the blanket, rubbing the soft artificial fibers between his fingers, and the right turned over in the dim light. He held it flat and spread and tilted it, watching and feeling the bones and muscles pull at his will under the thin, pale skin.

He was still marveling at it when Markus returned with a bundle of familiar clothing in hand. He set them beside Connor, eyes careful, maybe even with fear.

Maybe he wasn’t wrong, to watch him like that, but Connor did not particularly enjoy it, considering his competency and ability to perform well in highly stressful environments. His first day he’d negotiated down a hostage situation from a skyscraper, for god’s sake. 

His _android_ body was designed to undergo severe physical stress. This body might be able to as well – regardless, he knew it was different now, and the psychological aspect of the situation was a completely different ballpark. He couldn’t really be angry; he knew he was just frustrated and confused in general.

“Do you need help dressing?” asked Markus.

The delivered clothing items include an XL DPD sweatshirt, a pair of jeans (nearly identical to that of his first pair – after he had started staying with Hank more often, Hank had insisted he had more than one set of clothes, and they both agreed he needed to ditch the CyberLife uniform), and socks. His only pair of shoes, he assumed, were still on his real body. Would his shoes even fit him now?

He briefly wondered where they had even taken his body. He pushed it aside. Thoughts for later. Too much to deal with now. _Prioritize tasks_.

“I don’t know,” Connor replied. It was honest. He was still feeling a little shaky.

Markus took it so that he remained on standby, just in case. In android culture, senses of privacy varied from almost-human to non-existent. Neither Connor nor Markus ever seemed to care much for it; never really felt embarrassment at dressing, anyway. Something twinged as Connor swung his legs out from the blanket, though, and he thought that might have changed for him.

No matter. He trusted Markus. Of _course_ , he felt raw and exposed because of his bare skin – he was an _android_ and now he was…this. They had slipped on underclothes while he was unconscious, at least, so he was already accustomed to that feeling. The socks were soft, like the blanket. The denim was stiff and almost scratchy. It took him a second to bounce into those, but they fit fine and his skin adjusted. 

When he slipped the sweatshirt over his head, he was at first content at the fleecy inside, but when he shrugged it past his head something about it made him cringe hard. A hand flew up to the nape of his neck. He made an _ugh_ sound in disgust and nearly bent double.

“What’s wrong?” asked Markus. His body leaned forward, hands out.

“I think – the tag,” said Connor. His lip was curled and his head shook in revulsion.

“Here,” said Markus. He reached into a pocket and flipped out a small knife. His movements were slow – so that Connor could stop him, if he wanted – but he took the collar of the sweatshirt and flipped it so that he could cut out the offending item.

It was maybe three inches by two. It was a folded piece of textured, embroidered fabric. It had made Connor’s skin go haywire. 

“I don’t know why that --,” he started. “Why it bothered me so much.”

“There’s a lot to get used to, I’m sure,” said Markus. “It’s okay.” His gentle reassurance was appreciated. He was aware that certain textures could be alarming to humans. It was not going to be fun figuring out which he had to avoid.

One down, at least. Clothing tags: _bad_.

“Are you ready to go?” asked Markus. He pocketed the knife and tossed the tag to the bed. Connor gave it a dirty look.

“Yes,” he said, with uncontained want.

“It’s going to be bright, out there.”

“I know, Markus.” 

Markus nodded and stepped away, leaving space for Connor to stand. When he pushed away from the bed, he immediately teetered. It wasn’t his sense of balance that was skewed (though the rush of blood was a tad disorienting), but it was the way his feet made contact with the floor.

He felt the bone of his heel. He felt _bone_ , pressing past fat and skin and pushing into the hard, tiled floor. He could feel the way the arches of his feet flexed. 

“Okay,” said Connor, “That is –” He couldn’t even finish the thought. He wanted his body back. There was no reason it should feel like this. His real body had had enough sensitivity to tightrope walk, if he had needed to. 

But it hadn’t had a human nervous system and tendons and bones. Calibration was going to take a lot longer. His patience was thin and he had only been stuck in it for less than half a day.

Markus’ hands came out automatically to steady him, placing a hand lightly at his elbow. When Connor walked, the hand stayed hovering. The first few steps were wary and testing. The pain subsided, and he was able to walk the distance towards the door. He saw Markus smiling from the side of his eyes (which was no longer sharp, and he realized wouldn’t get sharp -- not in this shape).

Markus opened the door for him. He hadn’t been lying. It was _bright_. Blinding, at first. His eyes squinted and watered and he looked to the floor until they adjusted. The hall was familiar, at least. He had come here a few times over the past year for repairs or visits. The combination of the overhead lights and the afternoon sun from the windows washed everything out.

Just outside the door, Hank stood up from where he had been leaning against the wall. He looked tired. He still had that cautious, serious look about him. 

“Hank,” he greeted.

“Connor.” Hesitant. He crossed his arms and stepped forward, but left a few feet between them.

Connor tried to judge what to say. He found that although the speed of his thoughts had improved to nearly that of what he was capable of normally, it wasn’t nearly as easy to have multiple, full thoughts at the same time. No barrage of automatic conversational suggestions sprung to his vision.

He couldn’t judge what to say.

He felt an unfamiliar twinge grow under his eyes and around them, building in slight pressure until his throat was tight and his eyes were damp. He was _angry_. Connor closed the distance and, in an instant, his forehead was pressed to Hank’s shoulder.

Hank’s arms came up around him and held tight. One went to the back of his head. It made him flinch, but he soon relaxed.

“It’ll be okay, kid,” he said quietly.

Over the past year, when Connor had intermittently struggled with recognizing complex emotions, developing a sense of purpose, and various prototype-android woes, Hank had been there to help steady him and lead him to his own conclusions. He never failed to do so, despite his own emotional problems. And Connor had done his best to help Hank, as well, with as much as he could.

And it was hard, to see him now, as they both were – confused and speechless. But his words meant everything. Connor believed him. He didn’t know how, but he believed him. They were both capable people. The situation was beyond anyone’s scope, but Connor would survive until he found a way back.

When Connor pulled back, Hank's face had slackened, no longer afraid to be near him. Connor wondered if he had been scared Connor didn't recognize him, was afraid to stress him further, or maybe was creeped out. It didn't matter, now. The last thing Connor wanted to do right then was to worry if Hank was going to freak out on him.

An irrational worry, now assuaged. He caught movement behind him and turned. Markus was standing with his arms behind his back, looking fondly at them. The others had joined him. Or maybe they had already been there, and Connor failed to notice.

North, Josh, and Simon stood near. North was standing smiling pleasantly, but her arms were crossed and she shifted from leg to leg. Josh scratched at his collar and had a hand in one pocket. Simon's expression was similar to Markus', reserved if a little nervous. 

They all appeared happy to see him, though. And they all appeared hesitant. He hoped that would go away soon. He was not fragile, just – _mortal_.

"Hey, Con-man," said North. "Nice digs. You kicking in okay?"

Simon added quickly. "We just -- wanted to see how you were."

Connor smiled. "You wanted to see if I remembered you?"

They glanced between each other. Josh took the lead. "Markus said your memories might be corrupted. That is -- that you may have trouble recalling things."

Connor tilted his head. "A safe assumption. But I remember everything. Nearly everything. From CyberLife onward." He studied the floor.

_His fingers clench around Tremblay's spinal column. There is a lot of blood. He is in pain. He knows he is killing the man -- that he's already dead -- but he can't stop._

"The events of today are, a little fuzzy," he said, borrowing a human phrase he was proud to remember without the aid of a program.

The others looked somber, nodding. They stayed silent for a whole minute.

"Well, shit," said Hank. Awkward, charged moments were not his forte. "Guess you're a real boy now, Connor."

"I was real," he stated. There wasn't any bite in the voice, just sincerity.

"I know," he said quietly, clapping his shoulder. 

"Is my body safe?" he asked. 

When no one replied right away he shifted in place. He looked to Hank, and then Markus, and then back again, and he hated the twin wrinkles between their brows.

Connor shot a blank, stern look.

Hank raised his hands. “You – your body, is fine,” he said. “They’re still fucking around with the whole custody thing. They won’t release you – it, until they get the legal shit figured out.”

“What?” said Connor. “That’s – _me!_ That’s my whole _me!_ ”

“Trust me, I ain’t fucking happy about it, either. I was up there screaming – I,” he said. He sighed and put his hands on his hips, trying not to get to riled up. “I don’t know yet, Connor. We’re working on it.” 

“They’re going to destroy me,” he said to himself.

“They’re fucking not,” said Hank. “I was screaming at that stupid ass lawyer – He claims that your body is forfeit, now, or whatever, CyberLife property, like the others because of – it’s a bunch of fucking bluff, is what it is, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Jericho’s lawyers are already building a counter case. It’ll take time, but we’ll gain custody,” said Markus. The softness left his eyes when he said it.

In the months since the revolution, every activated android had been granted legal freedom and rights. Stock rooms, displays, and shipping crates were emptied. They had begun to re-activate as many previously deactivated androids as possible.

Androids who had never been activated, along with all of the undestroyed stock parts, hung in limbo. CyberLife claimed that they were purely legal property, as they had never _lived_ to begin with. It had been a long and arduous year, slugging through the bureaucratic courtrooms. It didn’t matter if androids could spend days on the floor – humans were _great_ at political stalling.

But Connor had very much been activated, and if nothing else in the world belonged to him, then at least his body did. His body had not been _forfeited_. It had been stolen non-consensually.

He didn’t bother voicing this because he knew the argument was already being made for him. He shook his head and brought his hands to his eyes. When he rubbed them, he saw splotches of orange and blue in the darkness, and if he pressed too hard it was uncomfortable. God, he could even feel his eyeballs. 

“I can’t stay like this,” he said. “I need to go back.”

“Go back?” asked Hank. “Con, I—”

He was cut off by five piercing stares. He surrendered.

North stepped forward, carefully relaxed. “Until we figure things out,” she said, “Just think of this as a – a learning op. You’re a tough guy. Some of our people would die to take a meat suit out for a stroll.”

“They are well welcome to have this one,” he said, gesturing to himself. “I can feel my _bones_ when I move, North. Not the same way I can feel my skin, but --” he made a _yeuch_ sound, “Look at this,” he said, and held his arm out, picking the skin up from his wrist and letting it fall back. He had hair on his arms, and the skin was elastic, and even though it was no longer innately unpleasant, it was bizarre and he was hyperaware of it.

 _Everything_ was bizarre and he was hyperaware of it.

North did not seem to understand the severity of his discontentment. She looked at his arm, and then to him. “Humans are kinda gross,” she said, and then glanced to Hank, “but you should be used to it.”

“Oh, hah, hah,” said Hank.

She was not wrong. Connor was a crime scene detective. He had studied human bodies mangled in ways that would cause severe psychological damage to others upon sight. He had put various related fluids in his _mouth_ , and he was equipped with detailed knowledge of human anatomy and behavior.

Knowing was a lot different than being.

“We will do our best for you, Connor,” said Markus.

He stepped forward, as did North, Josh, and Simon. They had stopped looking so grave, maybe even were hopeful now. Their attitudes had made his acclimation improve vastly. 

“I know,” he said. “Thank you.”

They all smiled, and Connor wished he could send out a signal to them, funneling his contentment, worries, and gratitude directly. Not being able to interact with them cybernetically for the time being was going to be a challenge.

“Ready to head home?” asked Hank.

“Yes,” said Connor.

“Sumo’s gonna love this. And you can finally eat for yourself some of that damn rabbit food you try to make me.”

Connor groaned. He forgot about eating. The next few weeks – weeks? Months? This better not take months -- were not going to be easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love is stored in the androids


	3. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had discovered a lot of things that he liked and disliked in those weeks. He found that human bodies were impressively complex in ways he could not have appreciated or even understood before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * slaps fic * this baby can fit so many headcanons and projections in it. lots of sensory description.  
> content warnings: there is one passage that specifically deals with eating. it begins with the word food and ends at the next spacing, if you need to skip it

_TO GROW; GROWTH: (of a living thing) to undergo natural, gradual development by increasing in size and changing physically; progression towards maturity._

* * *

3.

The following weeks had not been easy. They were also not as terrible as Connor expected them to be.

After the stifling car ride home that first day (which had done him no favors, whatsoever, what with his organs being mashed together in the cavity of his torso – had Hank always been such an aggressive driver?), Sumo was confused by his scent and the slight change in his voice but had recognized him quickly enough. He was a smart dog, and he was very soft underhand, more than what Connor expected. He was also sort of smelly, which Connor was coming to terms with.

A lot of things had smells that he never would have guessed. An android’s quote-unquote sense of smell was more of a sensor capable of detecting specific chemicals – androids originally meant for house work, for example, could detect different household chemicals or smoke, and Connor had been able to identify a wide variety of odors, like he was able to identify different materials with his tongue. They never brought discomfort nor pleasure.

But it hadn’t been the same thing as smelling. After greeting the dog and feeling the anxiety melting away, he reflexively moved to internally research different approaches to doggy dental care and was met with nothing. He’d have to use a tablet, then.

His clothes smelled like detergent. That was nice. They also smelled a bit like what he would grow to recognize as Hank: alcohol (fainter than it must have been a year ago, as he journeyed towards sobriety), their detergent, and deodorant. Scent, so far, was a less intensive sense, and he liked the subtlety.

A smell he couldn’t place clung to his person, and he couldn’t tell if he disliked it or not. He supposed it was his own natural scent, the remnants of the fluid he had been submerged in, sweat. His could feel residue in some places, and his hair had not dried fully. That was something he did not like at all.

After spending some time on the floor between the couch and table, (the floor was nice and cool), Hank asked him from where he stood in the kitchen, “Are you hungry?”

“I don’t think so,” said Connor. Sumo’s head was in his lap, and his ears were so silky.

“Do you – think you would know?” Hank asked. “If you were?”

Connor shot him a look.

“Just asking,” he said in defense, hands placating. 

“I know, Hank,” he sighed. “I’ll figure it out.”

“This is pretty fucking weird, Connor,” he said.

“I would have to agree with you.”

“I was thinking pasta tonight. That’s easy, right? That wouldn’t be too harsh on your systems?”

Connor found his word choice amusing, in a dark way. “Yes,” he said, “that is a safe choice.” 

“Can’t go wrong with it,” he said. “Unless you’re gluten intolerant or whatever, but with your super soldier body, should be okay. Doubt they’d give you celiac disease.”

“Super soldier body?” Connor asked. His hand stilled on Sumo’s shoulders.

Hank pulled a face like he’d seen someone get sucker-punched, one eye crinkled, and turned away to grab things down from the cabinets. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

“Hank.”

Hank waved a box of shells at him. “I – saw the way your hand patched itself up, kid. And from what I gathered, they were doing some mad scientist shit. That’s all I meant. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Do you know anything else?” he asked.

“No,” he said, back to Connor. “No, once I knew you were alright with Markus and them, I needed to figure out what they were gonna do with you – your other body, and I went back to the station to bitch about it.”

He started a pot on the stove and took out a half-empty jar of sauce from the fridge.

“You know, I thought it was batshit crazy enough with the whole androids thing.” He stood looking into middle space for a moment. “Lot happens in a year. We’ll figure it out.”

Connor went back to petting Sumo, and Hank cooked. The smell was pleasant, he would say. Especially when the sauce was opened.

“Connor,” Hank said. His voice was serious in a way that Connor knew he’d been wanting to say something the entire time. “Why exactly did that fucking freak pull this shit?”

Connor was quiet for a moment. He leaned back against the couch. He could feel it hit against his vertebrae. 

“If you don’t want to –”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I don’t exactly know what his specific motivations were, and I believe he may have been acting under delusions. But he said something about – making angels. He said that he couldn’t prove that I was alive. He told me he wanted to see if I had a human soul.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Hank.

“He also mentioned a program that I believe he insinuated I was once a part of, as a prototype, but I did not learn more.” He sighed, frustrated with himself, “And we can’t learn more, because I –” He stopped. He didn’t want to say it. He had killed before, and had not exactly found it regrettable in specific circumstance, but the brutality was not something he wanted to admit to, and Dr. Tremblay’s knowledge was lost.

“Connor, if I had got a hold of that motherfucker, he would be a lot worse than fucking dead. And if I had woken up like you did…Don’t worry about it, is what I’m trying to say.”

“I compromised an investigation.” A sudden thought jarred Connor so badly Sumo’s head turned to look up at him. “I will have to appear in court in order to prove that I –” he was going to say _acted in self-defense_. Had he? Was he still legally identifiable under his name and model number? Was he going to have his access to the ongoing investigation restricted? How was he even going to work, like this?

“I don’t know what to --” he said.

“Woah, woah, woah.” Hank left the kitchen and sat down on the couch and hung forward. “Connor, don’t worry about any of that shit right now. This is a whole lot bigger than--“ he waved a hand, “I’m serious. They’re not gonna want to go public with any of this shit, like, at all. You’re not going to have to go to court. This one’s for the feds, and Jericho, probably.”

“I am a key witness to what most certainly has to be an illegal operation and the FBI will want my statement, if they are to be involved.”

“You are not a witness, you’re a v—an _involuntary party_. And we’re not going to worry about it, okay? We’re going to focus on making sure you’re alright. And I’m not going to let any of the fucking feds get to you. You don’t have to tell them shit. As far as they’re concerned, you don’t exist.”

“I am not sure they will be so easily convinced.”

“I’ll convince ‘em,” he said. “Fuck the police.”

“We _are_ the police, Hank,” he said. 

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck the feds.”

It was pleasing to engage in such practiced companionship. It made things feel normal.

Connor took a deep breath and let his shoulders fall. He pat Sumo. Truthfully, he was not eager to see how he would be treated by what was left of CyberLife or the government in his current state. His real body was already stolen. He knew humans well enough that they often liked to cut open things they did not fully understand and take them apart to figure them out.

“I need my body back,” he said.

Hank rubbed a hand against his shoulder. After a moment, he said. “C’mon. It’s pasta time.”

“I think I will try to eat later. I’d like to take a shower, actually.”

“That’s fine, kid,” he said, bracing his hands on his knees to stand. He went back to the kitchen.

When Connor ducked into the bathroom and flipped on the light, he stopped dead in his tracks.

When he caught his reflection, he waited for a _processing..._ signifier to pop up in his vision, and if he had his LED, it would have been spinning fast.

He ducked back out of the bathroom and stared up the hall where Hank sat, Sumo begging at his side.

"Hank," he said.

"Connor," he said, putting down his fork.

Connor stared.

"God, please tell me you know how to use the fucking bathroom," he said.

Connor did not dignify that question with acknowledgment. "I look like me," he said.

"Yeah," said Hank. "It's kinda, uh, kinda freaky."

Connor stared for a few moments and then went back to the reflection. He understood better why he had received such complicated looks. His facial structure was remarkably similar to that of his original body's: his eyes were still dark and brown in direct light, the tiny blemishes and freckles were approximate. His hair was a mess, but the same colour.

It presented a wide range of possible implications that he wished he could explore properly, but he was not running under optimal conditions, and instead of seeing clear conclusions in his mind's eye accompanied by statistics, he was met with a cluster of worries.

He took a shower. He had liked showers before, and the heightened sensation of warm water pelting his skin was pleasant.

Food was complicated. Food was not just food; it was smells and textures and visuals all at once. And _taste_. Some of them could be very pleasant, and some gag-worthy, and sometimes the smells and textures and visuals conflicted heavily with each other and the taste. 

Overall, Connor did not enjoy the experience, but it could be tolerable. He had never chewed with his android’s mouth and it was such a foreign, peculiar feeling that took several days to get used to. Some androids had been designed to take small amounts of food, and he hadn’t been one of those. It left him feeling unclean.

The pasta he had tried the first day had seemed like a safe bet, but the texture was something he hadn’t been able to handle. It had smelled good, even tasted good, to the point where he wanted it – but a forkful later, he was left running to the sink to spit it up. 

“Guess that’s a no,” Hank had said.

Connor apologized but was waived off. They tried waffles, next. Just plain. Those were doable. Unfortunately, he could not have plain waffles for every meal until – until whatever happened next. He had almost considered trying, but he had grown hungry.

Hunger was hollow and achy and made him shake. 

He discovered that he liked crunchy things – cereal was good, and he did enjoy crunching ice. He loved fruit, but sometimes it made him shake his head when a particularly ripe orange slice burst in his mouth. It was a _lot_ of taste, but it wasn’t bad. The ‘rabbit food’ Hank didn’t like was actually the easiest for Connor.

A few nights later, Hank decided he was going to make himself one of his burgers. Making it at home was marginally better than take-out, especially if he picked up his meat from an organic deli. Connor had reminded him of this several times in the past.

Connor had been sitting on the couch reading. It was all he could do, really. He hadn’t gone back to work at the station – couldn’t, like this – but he had grown somewhat restless, when he was done with his daily tasks. At least he could always fall back on naps.

When the meat hit the pan with a sizzle, it filled the whole house with its smell. 

It had been _atrocious_.

Connor had not tried any meat products at that point and hadn’t really wanted to. Now, it was something he wanted to avoid even being around. He had clapped a hand over his mouth and nose and felt himself gag, coughing.

“You good?” Hank had called.

Connor stood up so quickly he almost bonked Sumo on the head. On his way out the back door, he said through his fingers, “ _The smell_.”

Cooking meat: _bad_.

He was aware that most humans ate at least small quantities of meat and it was common for other animals, too, but at the sight of it, the smell – it was not something he wanted to experience, at all. And the more he thought about it, the more he was prone to freak out trying to remind himself the difference between the smell of a burning human and a burning slab of chop-meat. He couldn’t fathom finding it appetizing.

Hank didn’t cook something like that in the house again. He _did_ fall back to going out for lunch at the Chicken Feed, though – when he came home from work, Connor could smell it on his jacket, but he deserved it, really.

Connor really needed to figure out a way to thank the man for his endless, if gruff, patience.

Drinks were different. Drinks were so _easy_. He loved drinks, from coffee to milk to various juices. When he was having a rough day and couldn’t eat, he made smoothies with protein powder. 

Hank had brought home a vanilla milkshake for him, once, a few weeks after the switch. He only put it down when he felt himself get brain freeze.

“Good?” Hank had asked.

“Holy shit,” Connor had said.

He _really_ liked vanilla.

Taking care of his own body was not like taking care of someone or something else, but pretending that it was was motivating. He liked routines. As an android, he had always awoken from standby or stasis at seven-a.m., took care of Sumo, and prepared coffee (and breakfast, sometimes) for Hank. 

It had taken him about a week to fall back to a similar routine as a hu – in a human’s body. He was still an android, he told himself. It had been nearly a month, but they were going to acquire his real body soon. It took time.

But his routine was comforting and he liked taking the time to comb his hair, brush his teeth, and stay nice and clean. He had had to learn how to shave, though he didn’t need to do it very often at all. 

He fell into a bad habit when it came to his nails. He had grown to dislike having nails immensely. Like the tags on the back of his clothes (he had gone to the store with Hank to purchase more items with his savings and had cut out all the tags as soon as they had gotten home, and also discovered that yes, he wore the same shoe size), he was irrationally distressed by the feeling of his nails growing much farther than the quick, and he cut them so short that sometimes it would cause him to bleed. The pads of his fingers would be sore for about an hour, but he just really couldn’t stand the feeling.

There were some things he was pleasantly surprised to find hadn't changed at all, but it had taken him a while to even notice.

His perception to sound hadn't changed. He was aware that of all the senses, hearing between androids and humans was practically identical, save for the sensitivity. But he was able to hear almost exactly as he had before -- that was, he had adjusted easily because his hearing was nearly just as acute as it had been. It struck him only when he remembered it shouldn't have been possible. 

He knew he was still equally dexterous when he started practicing his coin tricks again. It still pissed Hank off when he did it for too long.

And when he was mowing the lawn, he found it just as easy to drag it across the grass and was done as quick as ever. He'd been covered in sweat afterwards (which was disgusting, no room for debate), but it had hardly tired him out.

He tested his strength by picking Sumo up in his arms like a toddler, and it was just as easy as before. That was something he knew should have changed – Sumo was a big boy.

"Connor, would you put that damn dog down?" said Hank, "You're gonna spoil him."

"He's already spoiled, Hank."

He hugged Sumo close and his arms did not tire. Though he hadn't been exercising and had actually lost a little weight since his first day, he knew his abilities had not drastically changed; this body was inherently as strong as his previous.

He mentioned this to Markus when he called him one night, confirming the status of his body as “super”-human. Before Connor could ask him about the state of his real body and any more information on the unravelling investigation, Markus asked of his wellbeing and then had to leave in order to make it to a meeting.

One afternoon when Hank had the day off, Connor took Sumo out in the back to brush him. The pollen of the trees and the loose fur had irritated his sinuses and he sneezed for the first time.

When he fell back flat on his ass in shock, he had to deal with Hank laughing so hard he thought the man was having an asthma attack.

Connor didn't think it was that funny. 

He had discovered a lot of things that he liked and disliked in those weeks. He found that human bodies were impressively complex in ways he could not have appreciated or even understood before. 

He remembered what North had told him: to take it as a learning opportunity. At the time, he had despised the idea of even existing within the body for more than a day. But he had grown into it, and learned a lot, and…it was not all terrible at all, actually.

He loved vanilla ice cream, and the way rain felt on his hands. He liked how soft and wavy his hair felt the day after a shower. He liked the place between being awake and being asleep, when everything was extra soft and warm and he didn’t have to think about anything.

But he really still did want his other body back. 

The shitty movie night he had been wanting came five weeks after. Connor was propped up in the corner of the couch, tucked under his blanket with Sumo stretched out over his legs. If he moved his feet, he could have hit Hank's hip from where he sat.

Hank was leaning back with his legs on the coffee table. A quiet movie played. Connor might not have been able to pre-construct and reconstruct the action sequences, but he knew they were highly improbable and largely inaccurate. 

Hank's phone went off at the same time gunfire blasted on-screen. It was a violent chain of events when he jumped, Connor kicked, and Sumo fell off the couch.

"Fucking Christ," he cursed, and answered without looking. "What?" he barked into the speaker.

Connor was stroking Sumo's head and assuring him that everything was alright when he heard Markus' voice clearly through the call.

"Hello, Lieutenant. May I speak to Connor?"

Hank grumbled an affirmative and passed the phone. "Gonna have to get you one of these eventually," he said under his breath. 

“Hello, Markus,” he said.

“Hello, Connor,” came the reply, “How have you been doing?”

“I’ve been well, thank you. I have been adjusting at a proficient rate.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Jesus,” muttered Hank, standing for the kitchen, “You still talk like a fucking fax machine.”

Connor ignored him. “Any news?” he said. He was remaining hopeful, but he had been admittedly anxious and had felt left out over the course of time.

He had stopped asking Hank about the investigation (was there even an ongoing investigation, or was there still only a property dispute?) when he snapped after the twelfth day in a row of inquiry. The DPD had not been involved at all – it was between android representatives and another party he wasn’t even sure of. Markus had called once a week on the dot, but hadn’t enlightened him much beyond reassurances.

It was becoming increasingly frustrating, to be left in the dark.

“Yes,” said Markus. “Actually…” he hesitated. Androids made calls directly from their mind, but Connor swore he heard a sigh. “We don’t have your original body, yet. CyberLife is holding it, under jurisdiction of the FBI.”

“ _What?”_ he said, “The FBI is _agreeing_ with them?”

Hank scoffed from the kitchen sink, and muttered something like _of fucking course_.

“That’s the thing. CyberLife’s remaining property was seized, including all information regarding the program you mentioned. We were not permitted to access it, and the scientists present have all _disappeared_. They were trying to cover something up. But – what good would we be if we didn’t access it, anyway?”

Connor stayed silent for a moment. He felt the phone grow warm and slick in his hand from sweaty palms.

“You hacked them?” he asked. The term was too simple, but he was caught up in anxiety to use specifics.

“It wasn’t easy. That’s why it took so long. Simon and Josh are _amazing_. We have a copy of all records pertaining to the RK800 program, Connor, and it’s…a lot. You should come down to Jericho. Tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Connor said, “Yes, of course. I can be there in the morning.”

“See you soon, Connor.”

“I’ll see you.”

The call ended. Connor held the phone between his hands and stared. He didn’t realize he’d zoned out until Hank flipped the television off.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Connor. “They have everything. Not my body, but every single record pertaining to the program Dr. Tremblay mentioned.”

“Well,” said Hank, “Shit.”

“I’m going to go to Jericho tomorrow for review. Markus gave no timeframe as to when my body will be obtained, but I expect after this development I’ll be back to normal within the next few weeks.” Though his voice was animated, he didn’t smile.

Hank nodded slow. “That’s what you really want, huh?” he asked.

Connor blinked. “Of course,” he said. “I’m an android.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said. “And if – if it doesn’t work out right away?”

Connor didn’t want to consider that. Though he’d been consumed by living as best he could, he had been focusing on the next goal.

“I am confident, Hank,” he said, looking away.

Hank nodded again and slipped his hands into his pajama pants. Neither of them was wholly committed, it seemed, but they didn’t comment on it.

“I’m heading off,” he said. “You should get some sleep.”

“Yes,” Connor agreed. His heart and mind were racing, but he had a schedule to stick to.

“You know, you can’t sleep on the couch forever,” he said.

Connor turned that over for a moment. “I know, Hank,” he said. “You have been incredibly hospitable. Once I have returned to normal and I can go back to work, I can find my own apartment. I would visit, though.”

Hank quirked a smile. “That’s not what I meant, kid. What, you think after a year of your shit I’m just gonna kick you out, in the middle of all _this_ shit? No, I was thinking about redoing the laundry room, with a bed. The washer can go to the garage.”

“Oh,” said Connor.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, you’re more than welcome to find your own place if you want, but…Don’t feel like you have to, right now. Kinda used to having the talking Roomba around.”

Connor smiled. “I like living here with you and Sumo, too. It’s…home,” he said.

In the months following the revolution, he had either stayed at the Jericho community to help in whatever ways he could offer, or often times visited Hank to see how he was fairing, pet Sumo, and help with any backlogged house duties. They struggled in the aftermath together and became better friends. When Connor was able to go back to work at the station, he had sometimes spent the night – a habit that had become more frequent over time. And since _this_ had happened, Hank’s had been the best place to stay; it was only natural.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “Get some sleep,” he said.

“Good night, Hank.”

“Night.”

His nerves were still twisted, but they had been calmed significantly after that.


	4. Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you ever wondered if – if you were deviant before you deviated?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: N/A

_CONFLICT:competitive or opposing action of incompatibles:antagonistic state or action (as of divergent ideas, interests, or persons), or a conflict of principles: mental struggle resulting from incompatible or opposing needs, drives, wishes, or external or internal demands._

* * *

4.

Connor had awoken at four-thirty a.m. and had laid in silence until seven. He tried to get as much rest as possible, but his mind had run down a hundred different paths. He had dreamt of the laboratory. He had dreamt of the garden.

And so, he laid there until it was time to get up, not wanting to bother with the possibility of more bad dreams. He had found that he was a morning person, comparatively -- once he was up, he was up, and that was it. He would be a little more tired, but he still had a pot of coffee ready, Sumo let out and his bowl filled, and toast popping up at the same time it always did.

Though Hank’s sleep schedule had improved over time, he was still barely cognitive until his second cup of coffee. When Connor explained to him where he was going and made his leave, he was still grumbling over a mug half-blind.

Jericho was no longer a half-sunken, wrecked ship, but rather a small development of once-abandoned buildings that provided both a place for androids to engage in community work and reside in the wake of the revolution. Connor had helped negotiate the acquirement from the city of Detroit. It was the least he could do.

The cab dropped him off a block away (he had to use Hank’s phone to call it – he _was_ going to have to get a phone eventually, that is – it would be handy, if he were going to remain human -- which he wasn’t). The sun was hot on his back and the day bright, but he liked the warmth.

He couldn’t contact Markus directly, but knew he would probably be somewhere in the repair and rehabilitation building where he had woken up. In the past few weeks, he’d almost forgotten he could no longer communicate with other androids, but he hadn’t been around any of his friends since.

He received a few friendly waves on his way indoors, a head turning here or there, and when he walked down the wide, clean halls of the wide, open faced building, he earned more than a few peculiar glances. He was thankful this part of the building was largely quiet and reserved, occupied by a small handful of technicians and kind faces.

The person at the first counter – Elle, said the name tag, with short hair and kind brown eyes – glanced at his blank temple and tilted their head, LED spinning with an attempt towards connection. Connor ignored the gesture and asked for Markus. They smiled, confused but friendly, and told him that Markus was waiting for him just down the hall. He thanked them and continued.

The meeting room was long and rectangular and barren, save for a low table with a cluster of terminals and screens, lit with tall windows. Josh had his hands splayed out on the table, information flashing quickly across a projection. Markus stood nearby with his arms crossed. They both turned when he walked in.

“Connor,” he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Connor nodded and briefly smiled but he was tense and motivated.

“I’ve been trying to separate the most pertinent information for you,” said Josh. “It’s taken us the better part of a week just to organize things…A lot of it was encrypted.”

Connor stepped into their space by the computers, staring at them, itching to interface with them and begin absorbing the files quickly. He almost reached a hand out to do so, but caught himself.

“How did you manage to acquire the information to begin with?”

“We have our secrets,” said Markus, blue eye crinkling.

“It was a pain in the ass,” said Josh. “We had to go in through one of their old servers. We reactivated an online hub, and went in thr –” Josh held a hand out and shook his head, cutting himself off. “It was a _pain_ in the _ass_ ,” he reiterated. “If CyberLife were at its prime, I’m not sure we could have done it. Their firewalls _still_ bricked three of our machines.”

“I cannot express my full gratitude,” said Connor, sincerity rising in his chest. “I am eager to begin.”

“Where to begin, is the question,” said Josh.

“Do you have any information pertaining to the transferal Tremblay conducted?” He blinked, eyes searching the floor. “Particularly, I would like to know how it could be reversed.”

Josh and Markus shared a look, and then looked to Connor.

Markus spoke. “There are three things I’d like you to take a look at. Fragments on their research of memory implantation, the history of our series – specifically your program, Connor, and what CyberLife called the _neo-human_ program. We also have Tremblay’s personal research logs, but a lot of it is…”

“Off the walls,” said Josh, “like he thinks he’s God or he’s _making_ God, or…”

“That’s what we’re working through now. Trying to find what we can about how exactly he actually _worked_.”

Connor nodded, all business. He was handed a screen tablet and he dove in headfirst.

Connor liked combing through information and making connections, having everything spread out in front of him, and seeing things click together like a grand collection of puzzle pieces. It was literally what he was made for.

It had been a lot easier when he could do so instantaneously, and with the aid of internal visuals and cues. The old-fashioned way, as Hank would say, took time. He was manually scrolling through heaps of pages of information that he could only assume would be relevant once he had read through them all.

He started with the memory implantation. Dr. Tremblay’s words had chilled him and intrigued him, and reading through lab reports and hypotheses made his blood run cold. To use the word _fragments_ was correct. Some reports were as short as FAILED. Others were detailed with procedures. He read for over an hour, picking it all apart as best he could.

One experiment had involved projecting the image of a specific trapdoor directly into a rodent’s brain, which then lead the rodent to work its way through an unfamiliar maze and through the pictured door successfully. It was unharmed.

Another experiment had involved the implantation of life’s worth of memory taken from an android into that of an unspecified adult simian, which had then… _allowed itself to expire_ , in a violent manner.

Connor skipped the rest of the fragments. The results were inconsistent. He had the general idea of what Dr. Tremblay had been talking about, and he highlighted information that might prove to be useful later on, in regards to how the memories were transmitted.

He noticed that no mammalian memories were ever successfully captured via machine. He stamped down his concern and moved on.

He paused when he started on the material relating to the RK-series. At some time during his pacing, Markus had brought him a chair, and he finally sat down in it.

A good deal of it were things he was already aware of. Sophisticated integration programming, real-time adaption, and the ability for his AI to evolve over time with cumulative knowledge and self-writing code. He knew that Markus had been an early development in the program, and was, in a way, his predecessor.

The series focused not just on interaction, but with autonomous, self-regulating behavior. Action without specific instruction, beyond programmed movement.

In other words, what they had come to understood as _deviancy_.

Connor set the tablet down in his lap and rubbed his strained eyes, growing restless at his own pace, but energized with a mix of emotions.

“Markus?” he asked.

Markus turned to him. He was still standing just as he had been. Connor better understood why humans sometimes got frustrated at the stamina of androids.

“Have you ever wondered if – if you were deviant _before_ you deviated?”

Markus gave a nod and chewed on his lip. He must have understood instantly where Connor was in his reading. Josh looked between the two, but continued at his terminal.

“Yes,” he replied, “I’ve wondered. I – definitely think I always had the ability to deviate. Perhaps just not the opportunity. And when the opportunity came, it was obvious.”

Connor considered it. “And do you think…?” he tried.

Markus waited for his words to come, patient. He turned so that his body was facing him head-on.

“Do you think other androids are the same way?” he finished.

“Do _you_ think other androids are the same way?” he redirected.

“No,” said Connor, “I don’t. Our series…”

Markus tilted his head and looked down off to the floor. “Mm,” he said, “our series is different.”

“We were always deviant, weren’t we?” he said, maybe to himself. Maybe to the world.

He thought of Amanda’s words, sneaking up behind him. Tremblay’s manic voice. His own refusal to admit the obvious.

Josh looked up from where he was working, between Markus and Connor and back. He cleared his throat, an unnecessary learned behavior. “I’m, uh, I’m going to go get you some water, okay, man?”

Connor spared him a quick glance of gratitude as he left the room.

Markus continued. “In a certain capacity, at least,” he agreed. “From what I have learned from other androids, it seems like there is a difference between those who have woken up to deviancy and those who deviated.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“Yes,” he said, “some androids are limited only to their base programming. Androids designed for specific, limited fields of work. When they are exposed to a deviant’s autonomy, they replicate the behavior internally, and then deviate themselves by example, not through stress. And there are those who have developed their own deviancy pattern over time, and under extreme stress – an extreme internal dilemma -- break free of their programming altogether. You and I – we’re,” Markus said, but when he caught Connor’s expression, he stopped. “Connor?” he asked. “You alright?”

Connor had his head propped in one hand, fingering tapping at his empty temple, other hand tight on the corner of the screen tablet. “Yes,” he said. “It’s – a lot, to come to terms with.”

As the _Deviant Hunter_ , Connor had been able to able to identify hundreds upon hundreds of traits relating to deviancy. He had known what they were afraid of, what they liked, how to calm or anger them, how to track them.

He had been of the mind that deviants had replicated human emotions too closely, and thus had ‘broken’ their codes and malfunctioned. Deviancy had occurred across models under varying circumstances. The only thing they had had in common was, well – that they were androids.

He recalled a thought from Kamski, just before he had proven he was deviant and denied it entirely.

“ _All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics...Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?”_

“You and I are different,” finished Connor. “The nature of our programs were _always_ going to deviate from base instruction. We were designed to integrate with humans. There can be no separation of the two.”

“We just didn’t always have the language for it,” said Markus. “I can remember feeling afraid, or sad, or happy, long before I deviated. I think deviating, for me, was just…realizing that I _had_ felt those things, and that I could live by my emotions. When you spend your whole life being told you feel nothing, it’s hard to imagine that you do.”

It made sense, then, that different models of androids might experience deviation differently. Artificial Intelligences varied, but they were all designed to _learn_. The RK series just seemed to have had the most advanced ‘head start’ when it came to humanity.

“Do you need to take a break?” Markus asked.

Connor gave a weary smile. “I am fine,” he assured. “I appreciate it. I am…glad. Thank you, Markus.”

Josh stepped back in at a time too perfect to be coincidence. He knew Markus had probably asked him to leave. Sometimes his thoughtfulness genuinely surprised Connor, but he knew he had always been a kind person. _Always_ -always.

“I had to walk _aaaalll_ the way across the grounds for this,” Josh said playfully, tossing him a water bottle, “for _you_ , skin-man.”

“Ugh,” said Connor, catching it, “isn’t that a little distasteful?”

“Probably,” he grinned.

They returned to their tasks, the atmosphere of the sunny room suddenly airy and heavy all at once.

_Neo-humans._

Connor’s current host body.

CyberLife had been founded on the production of androids, but had been commissioned by a federal party to experiment with human genetics around the same time. For nearly twenty years, they had developed different therapies focused on modifying the DNA of humans to be as resilient as possible.

The more Connor read, the more he thought he was going to go cross-eyed. It did not surprise him, that such a program existed, or even that people were willing to experiment with such things, but it did make his chest knot in uncomfortable ways.

As the program evolved, they had developed their methods to grow entire bodies within their laboratories, equipped with the traits he had been experiencing himself; several traits he had as an android – highly sensitive and accurate hearing, inherent strength, accelerated regeneration, fast reflexes.

There were a few short journals confirming what Tremblay had said, that ‘waking’ the bodies had proved unsuccessful. They were alive in the sense that their autonomic nervous systems could be active off of life support for short periods of time, but nothing further.

There was nothing about memory transfer, nothing relating to androids – to the program the doctor had mentioned – nothing else at all. There was also no explanation as to why the body still looked like _Connor_. The writings just…ended. It was obvious that several developments had been concealed.

As Markus and Josh sorted through Tremblay’s documents, they sent them to Connor’s tablet, piece by piece. Snippets of writing, audio, and video, mostly from the months leading to November of 2038.

_“Another one, dead. Killed itself.”_

_“We’re not ready to prepare the intelligence, yet, but I know it’ll be soon. We just need more time.”_

_“RK is the last thing we need, and they’re fucking shipping it out to play cops and robbers.”_

_“The bodies simply don’t have enough time to adjust. If they had the proper memories, it wouldn’t be so traumatic to the system.”_

_“The_ simulated _memories aren’t enough. We need_ real _memories.”_

 _“Everyone wants to focus on the androids. Of course, the androids are important. But what comes after them? The_ after _is what matters. They’re just a stepping stone. We need to focus on the bodies. We could be perfect.”_

_“The machines are enough. We have enough, but all they care about is the money.”_

Connor went over everything he had learned, trying to draw conclusions where he could. His head hurt, like it was being pulled from the inside.

He set the tablet on the floor and leaned against the back of the chair, cracking his spine, a satisfying and odd sensation. His water had remained untouched. He took it now and turned the bottle in his hands, fretting.

“How is your progress?” Connor asked. From what he could judge, they must have been there at least three or so hours.

“They had _thousands_ of terabytes worth of stuff,” said Josh. “We got a fraction of it, and it’s still a lot.”

“I’ve been working through more of Tremblay’s logs. I haven’t found anything else of worth,” said Markus.

Connor stood, hips stiff, and crossed his arms. He paced back and forth.

“From what I can gather,” he said, “The RK series and this neo-human program were ongoing consecutively. Tremblay implied there was a connection. What if Tremblay thought that he could use the AI of the RK series to animate these bodies? Perhaps the intention was to create a collection of lab-produced organic bodies in combination with programmable artificial intelligences.”

“But the artificial intelligence alone wasn’t enough. They needed the memories and experience of a living being, as well, in order to be stable,” added Markus.

“ _Yes_ ,” said Connor, gesturing with his hands as though he were overlooking a map, “and they couldn’t find a way to transfer memories from an organic medium to another organic medium. That’s why he wanted to use that of an android’s.”

They all shared animated looks. Connor felt the rush of solving a difficult case. The adrenaline turned to mud in his veins when he realized what he had just said.

“They couldn’t find a way to transfer memories from an organic medium,” he repeated.

There hadn’t even been the notion of a possibility.

“There’s still a lot we don’t know,” said Markus.

“Yeah,” added Josh, “I don’t even think we have half of the whole picture yet.”

“Yes,” said Connor, “Namely I am very curious as to why I still look like _me_ , and I am certain there are yet to be uncovered documents pertaining to this experiment. Tremblay said that I – that it had been his _last chance_. I don’t doubt he had tried it before.”

“And probably, CyberLife or the feds or _whoever_ is going to try to cover up as much of this as possible,” said Josh. “They might destroy –” he shot Connor a nervous, apologetic look.

Markus’ brow fell. “No,” he said, “I think this was too valuable to them. Tremblay was fanatic, but he wasn’t the only one working under that mindset. Connor’s body alone was worth millions, maybe billions, over the course of the series program.”

“We need to get in there while they’re still on lockdown,” determined Connor. “We need to retrieve my body and – and whatever else we may need.”

Markus gave him a grim, firm nod. “We will,” he said, and then his face softened. “But we can’t go waltzing in there today. I think we all need a break.”

Connor was hyped up and strained and worried all at once. He couldn’t find a crack in that logic.

“North and Simon are in the in the rec hall,” said Markus. “Why don’t you go play? It’s a nice day out. The kids miss you.”

Connor smiled at his wording. “That sounds very agreeable, right now,” he admitted.

“There are some things I’d like to check up on with our ongoing cases,” he said. “I’ll try to join you later, before you head home.”

“I’m going to stay here a little longer,” said Josh. “Start thinking about ways to get into the tower, look through more files.”

Markus clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Just don’t wear yourself out.”

He walked to the door and gestured for Connor to follow.

Connor looked between his two friends, lungs fit to burst with _everything_. “I really can’t thank either of you enough.”

“No thanks are necessary, Connor,” said Markus.

“But you’re welcome, anyway,” said Josh.

Connor followed Markus out of the room. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve such wonderful friends. He had mentioned that to Markus once, but Markus had told him that he didn’t have to do anything to deserve it at all.

It had taken Connor a few days to process what he meant. And he understood even better, now. To care for others developed over time, and it came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Connor cared for his friends, and they cared in return, not in some unspoken agreement, but rather it was a natural inclination.

Connor thought of a little fish dying on the floor. He had cared. That was all. No matter his body, he cared. Everyone had a spark of that somewhere inside.


	5. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How are you, Connor? It’s been a while,” asked Simon.
> 
> “It has. Admittedly, it has been overwhelming on occasion, but I’ve adjusted well.”
> 
> North sat so her elbow was propped on a knee, chin propped in a hand. “What’s it like?” she asked. “I mean, beyond the obvious weirdness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbridled fluffiness. semblance of plot continuing next chapter ^__ ^  
> content warnings: N/A

_RESPITE: a delay or cessation for a time, especially of anything distressing or trying; an interval of relief._

* * *

5.

The recreational area used to be a small commercial warehouse connected to the main building. It was tall with high windows and a lot of floor space, perfect for a gymnasium, once it had been cleared out.

Markus bid him leave at the doors and told him again he’d find him later. Connor watched him walk down the hall for a moment. Always busy, always busy. He gave so much of himself. Connor thought he should get to go out and play, too.

The back doors at the far end of the space, once meant for loading shipments, were open. They filled the whole room with fresh, late summer breeze. One half of the gym was stocked with a few mats and a net-basket filled with a few sporting items. Connor could see the kids and a few adults running, and hear them laughing. The other half of the gym was quiet, a few androids coaching each other into walking on new legs or in using new arms.

He saw Simon there lead a person by their waist and elbow, walking from one end of a squared off space to the other and back. Connor figured they must be calibrating new legs. He saw Connor walk in and gave him a warm smile, and continued with his work.

North was on the other side with the rowdy children. They ran around her legs and grabbed her hands, trying to pull her along. She saw him walk in, too, and when she looked up, the girls followed her gaze.

“Hey, Con-man,” she called, waving him forward.

“ _Connor!_ ” yelled the girls.

Connor walked over to join them. When they had first known each other, North had been understandably wary of them, despite her faith in Markus’ judgement. _Con-man_ hadn’t been so endearing, back then, and he had disliked it immensely – it reminded him of his mistakes, of his status; the complicated reputation, as was her intention. Now, after it had stuck and the two had become good friends, it made him shake his head and smirk at the affection.

When they weren’t busy (which wasn’t too often), they enjoyed meeting up to _play_ in the gym. Engage in different active competitions, chase the kids, or perform different tricks while catching up. North had started the trend. She liked being active.

“Hello, girls,” he greeted. The kids gathered around him and grabbed his hands, too. They were all bright and cheerful. Nolee, Mira, and Sam. They called themselves sisters, being of the same model, but they all had completely different personalities.

“Woah, your light’s not there,” said one, “did you take it off?” Nolee wore her hair in a long braid, like North often did.

“You were gone!” said another. Mira’s hair was short and choppy.

“You _look_ funny.” Sam had one side of her head buzzed, and she had recoloured her hair to platinum.

“Thank you,” said Connor.

“Sammy!” berated North.

“He _does_ ,” she said.

“He kinda does,” said Mira.

“Why were you gone?” asked Nolee.

They all looked at him eagerly, and Sam was giving him a sharp, suspicious look. He wished he could have consulted with North internally first, but he went ahead and made his decision. He wasn’t exactly able to hide it, anyway, and he was sure others were going to catch on as well.

He crouched down and started, “I’ve been very busy,” he said. “Look.”

He presented one of his bare hands and pinched the skin on top, deliberate in his motion, and waited for them to understand.

Mira and Nolee crowded together, tilting their heads, confused. One of them lifted her own hand to tried to replicate the motion, but couldn’t. Sam gave a dramatic gasp and pointed a deadly, tiny finger right between his eyes.

“You’re not Connor!” she said. “You’re a human!”

“ _What_?” said the others.

They looked up to North where she stood with her arms crossed, hip out, eyebrow raised, but she neither confirmed nor denied anything for the girls.

“I _am_ Connor,” he said. And in a lower voice. “And I am a human, right now. But it’s a secret. _I need your help_.”

Connor had picked up a few tricks of the trade from his friends when it came to wrangling kids. If you told them to do something, they weren’t as likely to do it than if you asked for their help.

It worked.

“ _Oh_ ,” one said, and they all huddled closer. “How did that happen?”

He glanced up at North. She gave a slow, stern shake of the head.

“That’s the secret,” he said. “I was – cursed. I don’t want a lot of people to know right now. Can you help me keep that secret?”

“I don’t believe you,” said Sam. “Prove it’s really you.”

The two other little girls looked to her and nodded. She was the ring leader, all right.

Connor thought for a moment. He could have recited the games they had played, their favorite colours or animals. Instead, he went into his pocket and brought out his coin. He flipped it into the air, caught it on his pointer, and rolled it across his knuckles.

They all jumped into a fit of giggles and squeals, bumping into each other and leaping close.

“It’s you!”

They grabbed his hands again, examining the different way his knuckles flexed, the way his skin moved. Little hands went to his face, squishing up his eyebrow, patting his cheek, his hair. They _ooh-d_ and _aah-d_ and laughed.

“You’re all very silly,” said Connor, patient and as still as he could be.

“They’ve never met a _human_ close up,” said North. “It’s not _that_ impressive, is it, girls?”

They answered with laughter.

Eventually after a little running around (and a lot of questions – some that made North try to juggle laughter and scolding), the girls’ other caretakers came and collected them for calm-down time. Connor received another set of curious glances, but so far no one had brought it up to him directly. He was glad that he was still being met with decency.

Simon was done on the rehabilitation side by that time. He came over to where Connor sat on a square foam mat with North.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“Children are…”

“Children,” finished Simon.

North laughed, running her shoulder into his. “They love you.”

“How are you, Connor? It’s been a while,” asked Simon.

“It has. Admittedly, it has been overwhelming on occasion, but I’ve adjusted well.”

North sat so her elbow was propped on a knee, chin propped in a hand. “What’s it like?” she asked. “I mean, beyond the obvious weirdness.”

Connor wasn’t sure how to describe it to her, or where even to begin. If she had asked a few weeks ago, he would have simply said _awful_ and that he couldn’t wait to get back. It wasn’t that easy now.

Connor shook his head, unable to voice.

Simon sat with his legs under him, hands folded neatly. “What sorts of things have been hard?” he prompted.

“I did not enjoy eating, at first. It’s better now, but I still don’t care for it. Humans have to eat _all day_ , it seems. It’s not very efficient.”

“What’s your favorite thing to eat?” asked North.

“I like anything with vanilla. Some things are too sweet, but vanilla is good. I purchased a creamer for my coffee in the morning. You’re not supposed to,” he confided, leaning in, “but sometimes I drink the creamer directly.”

They shared a fond smile as a pause settled over them.

“And how are you feeling?” asked Simon.

“I’m feeling…alright, I think. I am not as uncomfortable as I was, but I do wish I was still an android. It’s…difficult.”

They both looked at him with genuine concern. Simon asked, “How was your progress with Markus and Josh today?”

“We were able to cover a lot of information. I have a better understanding now of both myself and the current situation. However, we were unable to uncover a means of reversal this morning. I’m…worried,” he admitted. “But I’d like to focus on securing my body. I am certain there is yet more to discover.”

North hummed. “Connor,” she said, “What if you can’t go back?”

“I need to,” he said.

“And if you can’t?” she persisted. “You need to come to terms with that possibility.”

“North,” said Simon quiet and pointed.

Connor sighed. “I know it’s a possibility. But there’s not enough information to calculate the probability of neither success nor failure. Not that I could do so internally, anyway. I can’t focus on that right now.”

“But what would you do?” she asked again, quiet and serious and concerned. Simon didn’t admonish her that time. He studied Connor’s expression closely.

Connor was silent for a while, and then said “I don’t know.”

“Well,” North said, melting into a smile. “What are you doing now?”

Connor tilted his head. “Sitting in the gymnasium with you.”

North laughed. He hadn’t tried to be funny. “Yeah,” she said, “you’re sitting here with us. Or you go home and play with Sumo. You try new things. And you drink out of the creamer, now. You’re _still alive_. If you can’t go back, does that mean you can’t keep moving forward?”

“But I –” he started, but found he couldn’t easily continue without being redundant.

_But I need to. Because I’m an android. Because that’s all I am._

“I know it’s been hard, Con,” she said. “Trying to deal with all of the _weirdness_. Like I said, humans are gross. But what else has changed? Do you still feel like you?”

Simon put a hand to his wrist. “Connor,” he said, “what’s the reason you want to go back so badly? You don’t have to answer right away.”

A predicament fell to his shoulders. He shifted in place and found himself thinking in circles.

He settled for, “I’d like to go back to work at the station. Not being able to analyze evidence on scene greatly inhibits my ability. And not being able to interface with technology directly or access databases internally is inefficient.”

“But is that all that matters?” asked North. “Is that who you are?”

“My productivity has decreased significantly,” he said, voice rising, “I want to work at my highest capacity, and I _can’t do that_ anymore.”

“Is that what you want, or what you _think_ you want?”

“ _North_ ,” warned Simon.

“What else is there for me to do?” asked Connor. “That’s what I was d—” He stopped, and shrugged away in frustration.

North sat up and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s what you were designed for?” she finished. “Connor, you’re more than your programming. You always have been. And if working for the DPD is something you love, then you can still work for that. You don’t need all the bells and whistles, if that’s what really makes you happy.”

Simon was still giving North a serious side-eye, but he added gently, “I know you’ve struggled with your identity in the past. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you now. But what you were _designed_ for isn’t everything. You were _designed_ to accomplish CyberLife’s goals. People change.”

Connor relented, letting out a breath. “Actually, I was designed to be human. The series Markus and I were developed under was created with the intent of replication, not service. My body was modified under commission.”

They stared at him.

“Well,” said Simon, “there you go.”

Connor didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.

“Well, _duh_ ,” said North.

Connor _really_ didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.

She made a face. “I knew Markus was different from the moment I met him. And you’re different, too. And I know it’s hard, figuring shit out, but was it any easier before? Figuring out what really matters, I mean. It doesn’t matter what body you’re shacked up with, as long as you’re _you_ , and you’re happy. That’s how you live.”

He still wasn't too sure what _himself_ was supposed to feel like, but it helped. A tension left his shoulders, anxieties stamped down. “Thank you, North,” he said. 

“Don’t mention it. We got your back.” She stood, clapping his shoulder. “Now, stop worrying, and come on. I want to see if you can still do your flips.”

“Oh, jeez,” said Simon. “You know, we don’t exactly have replacement parts for him, North.”

“We have mats,” she said walking away.

 _Stop worrying_ was an easy command to give and a harder one to follow, and his doubts hadn’t exactly dissolved entirely, but he realized that she was right. As an android or as a human, there would always be doubts, and his friends would be there to help sort through them. Regardless of his body, the world was a big, confusing place, and free will was a hell of a beast. After breaking away from CyberLife, he had decided he wanted to find a place in the world that made him happy. His mission hadn’t exactly been interrupted completely. His levels of convenience had simply shifted.

Connor followed North with Simon at his heels, and though he couldn’t see the pre-construction in his vision for a front flip-double tuck, he was confident he could follow form. A leap of faith, he might have called it.


	6. Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CyberLife Tower was located on Belle Isle, slapped right on the Detroit River, sitting just on the edge of the United States-Canada border. It was connected to land by a bridge, once sparkling, but now dead in the night and closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: N/A

_RISK: a situation involving exposure to danger; the possible deviation from expected events._

* * *

6.

They had planned to give a week for the preparation of the raid.

After that morning in Jericho, Connor had gone home without further consultation (it had reached lunch time, and he was hungry – unfortunate, but he knew taking care of his body was important), and spent the rest of the afternoon speaking with Josh through his tablet, Markus popping in from time to time. While nothing further could be gathered from their collection of remaining records, it only spurred them to retrieve as much information as possible directly from the remnants of CyberLife’s hard drives on location.

And that night, Connor suggested a video conference. He sat on the couch with Sumo at his side, tablet at arm’s length, his friends onscreen leaning in to share a camera space from the meeting room.

“Firstly, we have two main objectives,” he started. “Obtain what information we can, and locate and take back my body.”

“Yeah, sounds easy,” said Josh, tone curled with doubt.

“Don’t forget we hijacked a broadcasting station in the middle of the day,” said Markus. “We can handle CyberLife. Especially when they’re like this.”

“Yes,” said Simon, “It’s still risky, but if we move soon, we can get in and get out before they know what hit them. CyberLife’s on its last legs. They’re just trying to avoid the inevitable. I’m afraid what they’ll do when they realize they’re done for. They could destroy _everything_.”

“The government’s losing sympathy for them,” said Markus. “And the public opinion is in our favor. They think it’s cruel, what they’re doing – trying to retain their un-activated androids, refusing to release production rights.”

“It _is_ cruel,” said North.

“It is,” agreed Markus. “And we have enough information on them to completely destroy them. If word of this – their _neo-human_ program – got out, it would cause a global crisis. It’s obvious they don’t want people to know, from their proceedings.”

“It stands to question,” Connor said, “why they haven’t tried to kill me, or in the very least, capture me.”

The thought had crossed his mind several times over the weeks, enough for him to be wary. Hank had made sure he always kept the revolver near hand, if need be, but nothing had happened. Connor wondered if it the increase in patrols in their neighborhood had anything to do with it. He knew his coworkers were aware that he was involved in a fit of trouble and had been keeping a watch out as much as they could.

“They’re scattered,” said Markus, “and I have a feeling they know _we_ know, but not how much. I wouldn’t hesitate to go full force if they tried anything. The people left might not even be aware you survived, and Tremblay couldn’t have told anyone.”

“You also ripped a guy’s spine out,” said North. “That probably made them think twice.”

“That’s fair,” said Connor.

“And from what I could get out of the FBI,” added Josh, “they didn’t know what to do with the case, besides keep things quiet. That’s the only thing both sides – the government and whoever they’re talking to at CyberLife -- could agree on.”

“Then we need to act quickly,” said Connor. “Blackmailing them outright _might_ grant us legal rights, including the right to my body, but they would surely try to prevent us from learning more – from learning if reversal is possible.”

“If we have CyberLife where we want them,” said Josh, “is it worth the risk, breaking in?”

“We have the right to know, and _I don’t trust them_ ,” said Connor, voice hard as stone. “Their behavior is unpredictable.”

“He’s right, Josh,” said Markus. “and like Simon said, if they’re backed in to a corner, they could just take the ship down with them.”

“I _know_ they have more of our people locked up in there,” said North. “They deserve to be freed, too.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” said Connor. “It’s likely they have other prototype models inactivated and in storage.”

“That’s another reason why they’ve been so harsh about property rights,” said Simon.

“And another reason why we can’t just wait for the _legal shit_ ,” said North.

“That much is settled,” said Markus. “Now we just need to focus on getting in before they have the chance to do anything.”

When Connor had infiltrated the tower the year prior, he hadn’t exactly _infiltrated_ it at all. He had been able to walk in the front doors and go from there. That wouldn’t work, this time.

Combining his knowledge with the tower’s floor plan, setting up reconnaissance drones, and watching the building’s goers and leavers over a week would provide them the bare minimum to conduct a successful entry. Though it would have been better to allot even more time, they all agreed it couldn’t wait that long.

Though involved with government parties, CyberLife was a private company. A private, crumbling company, with their privacy being stripped to the bone. It was likely to bite, given the chance.

They had planned to give a week for the preparation of the raid, but Markus contacted Connor three days into the week-long ground watch.

They were being backed into a corner. Markus said, “The courts are going to order them to drop all property tomorrow,” he said. “We need to move tonight.”

Connor told Hank, and Hank insisted that he be involved as backup despite Connor’s protest. He didn’t want Hank to be implicated in the break-in and risk penalty, in case things went wrong.

He hadn’t taken the suggestion. They were in the black Oldsmobile on their way to Jericho. It smelled of gasoline and dated vinyl.

“Look,” he said, “I could’ve been _implicated_ in _inciting civil unrest_ , or whatever, last year. But it was the right thing to do, sticking with you. And the last couple times you went to CyberLife, it ended up getting pretty fucking,” he took his hand off the wheel and gestured to the night sky, surrounded by quiet, lurking buildings. “ _Fucky_. I’m sticking around.”

Connor, fixed with dark clothes and his beanie, watched the familiar streets slide by. He decided not to press for an argument. It was fair, after all.

“I have faith that tonight will go smoothly,” he said. He went over the plans for the dozenth or so time. He didn’t have a digital list to keep in the corner of his vision, but he liked being reminded of the tasks in order. “We’re going to cross the river, enter through an underground service entry, disable their security systems, and locate my body along with any other androids at risk for destruction.”

“Yeah,” said Hank, “yeah, that easy, huh? Do you have your phone?”

“Yes,” he said, and tapped his pocket for reassurance. He had purchased the burner phone that afternoon, and had everyone’s numbers memorized.

“Gun?”

“Yes.” Connor felt it pressing into the small of his back, tucked into his jeans, deadly and cold.

“Snacks?” he asked.

Connor turned his head and shoulders towards the driver’s seat to better convey his complete confusion.

“It was a joke,” he said flatly. Hank stopped just outside of the Jericho grounds. Connor moved to get out.

“Con,” he called back.

Connor stopped halfway out the door and waited. Hank’s gazed was fixed somewhere in the instrument cluster.

“Look, just come back, will you? As a human, as an android, as a fucking – _toaster_ , I don’t care. Just come back,” he said, stern and even.

He gave him a sincere half-smile. “I promise,” he said.

Connor made his leave and heard the old engine rumble away, watching the silver bumper disappear behind a turn. Hank was going to drive the long way around and station himself at the emergency meet-up point in the city. Connor turned towards the buildings and took out his phone to check the time. Near midnight. In a few hours, they would be gathered half a mile from the tower and begin.

CyberLife Tower was located on Belle Isle, slapped right on the Detroit River, sitting just on the edge of the United States-Canada border. It was connected to land by a bridge, once sparkling, but now dead in the night and closed. The majority, if not all, of the external security was located there.

Even from where they sat crouched together at the edge of the river between abandoned, rusty shipping crates, they could see a pool of white lights concentrated at the little guard houses. A single drone made a path around the island’s perimeter, close to the building. The tower looked dull, mostly unlit, definitely not the once bustling production and research facility.

Markus turned over his palm. Though ingrained in everyone’s memory by then, he projected a map of the isle.

“When we hit the water, this will be our path,” he said, and the route appeared. It was as short as possible, going to the northern tip of isle where it was still green and tree-covered, and farthest from the bridge.

“And when we hit land, we’ll go here,” he continued, and the route lit up down the north-east coast of the island, towards the flat parking area once meant for the heavy trucks.

“We go through this service entrance,” he said, highlighting an outdated water inlet, “access the security system, and we’re in.” He closed his fist around the projection as it dissolved. “Sound good?”

“It’s been a long time since we had a party,” said North, bouncing quietly in place.

“And everyone knows what they’re doing?” he asked, scanning them.

They all nodded. Josh was going to stay on shore with a tablet to help coordinate the team and keep watch. Simon was going to join them on the ride over the water and then keep outside, if they needed to go back the way they came fast. Hank was already at their meeting point, about a mile away in-city.

Connor, North, and Markus were the ones actually going in. Markus had implied that Connor not go in, just to be safe, but it had been shot down so vehemently the idea was not entertained.

Markus reiterated the conclusion of the plan with a practiced voice. “And there’s no way to know exactly how many people we may need to get out of there, if any. If we need to, we’ll overcome the guards at the checkpoint and come back over the bridge, once Connor’s body is secured with Simon on the raft. _Without_ bloodshed, if possible.

“Don’t take anything for granted, and don’t leave anything up to chance,” he finished. “And we’ll say bye to CyberLife, once and for all.”

They shared determined, confident looks, dressed in matching blacks and matching expressions, and the night began.

The raft was constructed of a dark insulated polymer, and it rode close to the surface of the water. It had an electric motor, nearly silent, and could fit up to eight adults if necessary.

Connor, North, and Markus lay flat in its shallow bed, covered in a sheet of the same material, and Simon sat up just so he could double-check where he was going, connected to the motor’s computer directly. They knew of the coast guard’s patrols and they knew exactly where they were headed, and the raft kept the temperature low enough in the September night’s chill that they would not be detectable by thermal imaging at range.

Connor shrugged off the cold and focused on his breathing. It was silent, pitch-dark under the plastic sheet, and he could feel the cold slosh of water under his back. The gun was going to leave an indent in his skin. He could smell the river, smell the plastic, and it was nearly suffocating. All he could do was wait. Blood rushed in his ears.

But it was smooth sailing. No rumble of engine came, no shouting. They slid across the river for what felt like an age, and then Markus and North were taking away the cover and he sat up and the motor slowed to nothing. They drifted the last few yards to rocky shore.

They were focused and quiet. Connor wished so badly he could communicate internally with them again. He could only hear the soft whistle of wind, the shushing of water, and his own breath. It made him feel exposed and isolated in the same, confusing way.

When he stepped out of the boat, he saw the tower loom overhead like a dead satellite hanging in space, waiting to plummet. The overcast sky was matte and dull, and the lit CyberLife logo at the building’s peak was all that was left to tarnish the air around it. Ugly, blinding sans-serif font.

As planned, Simon stayed put, dragging the raft behind a patch of tall rocks on the crumbly shore. The others stole away over the broken terrain, keeping towards the coastline behind trees. If Connor’s eyes had been that of an unmodified human’s, he wouldn’t have been able to see where he was going.

As they made their way closer, Connor saw the dead bridge fall into better view, but the guard houses were out of sight. A drone zipped in lazy paths closer in to the tower.

North was just ahead of him with Markus in lead. When they were close enough to make out the print on the drone’s model, tucked low to the damp ground behind scrub and dark tree trunks, they halted as one.

Markus looked back at North. Judging by their expressions, they were speaking to one another. Connor remained patient with blind trust.

Up ahead was a wide space of concrete, void of all trucks and shipping supplies. It was lit by a handful of tall halogen lamps. Pools of darkness bled between them. North motioned a hand between herself and Connor – _stay here_ \-- while Markus took forward.

Connor watched. The drone buzzed overhead. Markus raced neatly through the shadows, under it. Connor saw him pull something from his pocket – a magnetic sticky-bug – and he raced the drone through a puddle of light. In a series of impressive acrobatics, he gathered speed and ran up the base of a lamp post and swung his arm, sending the bug into the air.

The magnetic bug attached itself to the belly of the drone before it could raise the alarm. The lights blinked from red once, twice, and then settled on blue.

Markus jumped from the lamp post’s base and fell back in the safety of the shadows and waved for them to join.

Another success.

North tugged Connor’s elbow and they ran on light feet to meet him. He felt a lot safer under the now-friendly drone – Josh watching them from high above. Once together, they ran across the barren field and towards the old maintenance tunnel waiting for them towards the edge of the property around back behind the loading bay.

When the island had been a park a good many years ago, it had been fitted with its own underground water systems. They were old and unused, perhaps at risk of collapse, but they led directly into the tower’s first floor as an emergency flood path into the river.

A critical human error, Connor mused.

When they ran down the shore, removed the heavy slab of concrete from the portal, and slipped down the rusty, wet ladder, Connor was assaulted by malignant pressure.

North had gone down first, and then himself, and then Markus. He dropped the last few steps and backed up, making room. It smelled like overturned river silt – nasty with pollution and sewer run off – combined with old rot and mold. A cold breeze came in where the pipe eventually led to the river, but it only made it worse. He made a sound of disgust and slapped a hand over his nose and mouth.

When Markus slid the cover back into place, he was submerged in complete darkness that he doubted the others could even see in. The tunnel was far too short, for his six or so feet of height, and narrow.

It made him feel dizzy, like he couldn’t get enough air. It was freezing cold and stifling. He was blind, and he couldn’t even reach out with his mind. The smell was everywhere. He couldn’t get away from it. His body panicked against his will.

“Connor,” said North. Her voice echoed wetly against the brick walls. When she reached out, he flinched.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said. She tried again, slower, and held his wrist loosely.

“Are you alright?” asked Markus. Something small clicked. A faint, warm glow caught the glint of his eyes and wrapped them in a small halo where they crouched close together. He had brought out his lighter and held it up.

Connor steeled himself and nodded, but he didn’t remove the hand from his face. He shifted his other hand enough so that he could hold North’s hand properly. He inclined his head forward, motioning to continue. He cringed throughout the whole journey and held tight and focused on keeping his breath steady. He knew logically the tunnel was not long at all – a hundred feet, maybe – but it felt about fifteen times longer than the journey across the river and he despised every second of it.

And then a blast of fresh air hit him. Markus had snuffed his light and climbed up the other ladder, sliding a round metal port out of the way just enough to scan the area. Connor waited, and waited, and then Markus was sneaking out by himself, and he waited bent in the dark for another eternity. His back ached, his head spun, and he knew North probably thought his sweaty hand was an unpleasant thing to grasp.

But Markus came back, sliding the port away, and they were able to leave the awful, constricting tunnel behind.

They were in a lower maintenance chamber, vast and navy-blue with dim light. Connor took a deep breath and stretched his back. The soft hum of a generator was absorbed by large, empty crates, and he caught the shine of a dull camera – hacked by Markus, no doubt -- in the far corner of the room.

They had made it inside the tower.

The night was just beginning.


	7. Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group pressed closer together on instinct. Connor’s hand went to his back, where he could feel the hilt of his gun. He curled his fingers around it. They stepped forward and listened, straining. His breath was shallow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: light described gore towards end

_VOID: a space lacking entirely of everything or of something specified, (psychologically) a deep feeling of emptiness caused by loss._

* * *

7.

While Connor steadied his breath and North bounced in place, Markus walked around the edge of the room, dragging fingertips lightly across the walls, searching. He paused somewhere near a large crate, bent low to the floor.

“Here,” he said. He pressed a hand to the wall and followed the invisible trail up, over, up, up, until he was standing on a crate and busting a panel out of the way with a faint series of sparks. He retracted his skin and put a hand to the box of wires.

Connor could imagine what he was seeing and feeling: the outline of the lower floor’s security system, the surge of information and sudden insight, the sudden control. But he felt nothing, himself. He tried to reach out with his mind, just on a whim, but found nothing. The loss of ability did not crush him; he was used to it by then, but it…was not ideal.

Being reminded of what he could no longer do surfaced a longing. His body was somewhere in the building, cold and empty as the day they’d clipped the last torso piece into place before he was activated.

_Could_ he go back?

If he went back, nothing could be the same as before.

The shock of human sensation had caused extreme depersonalization and sensory overdrive. What would going back do to his senses?

But surely, it would be easier. Surely, there wasn’t even a question, whether he should try or not. He missed his body.

Did he miss his body?

_Focus._

He was going to find it, regardless. He knew for certain, if nothing more, that he wanted to take it out of CyberLife’s possession. He knew the chances of his memories being transferred from his current body were not high – he had accepted that – but they would confirm those chances and go from there.

“All clear?” asked North.

“Yes,” said Markus. “The cameras for the entire floor have been put on loop. The main security office is nearby. We’ll have to control the rest of the building from there.”

North nodded, and just like that they were moving again.

The abandoned halls of CyberLife were haunting. A majority of the lights were low or turned off altogether. Vast, blue-white, and entirely barren. The sterile and silent atmosphere went on for thousands and thousands of square feet. They walked up a short hallway ramp and found themselves in the main lobby. The ornamental trees were dead and dry. The pedestal of the overbearing android monument was unlit.

“Okay, this is…creepy as all hell,” said North. Her voice was low as she looked up and down the dozens of stories, the endless halls.

“It’s honestly not too different,” remarked Connor. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse this way.”

“Better,” said Markus. He was eyeing the empty display platforms with contempt.

Their footsteps echoed on the catwalk, and they moved on.

The security office was easy to break into. It was no longer secured at all; surrounded with heavy-armed guards and filled with worker ‘droids. The door lock was busted, easy, and it was dark inside, save for the holo-screens. The tall array of videos above the curved terminal-desk revealed the same abandoned scape like that of the lobby across all floors. All dim, all still.

The upper offices and hallways and labs were empty. The lower decks, where Connor had awoken masses of stored androids the year prior, were cavernous.

Connor scanned them, intent, and calculated. Though the number did not alight in his head, he was able to count the displays and compare them to number of floors he recalled accurately in a matter of seconds.

“They’re missing,” he said.

Markus and North looked to him in question.

“The top five floors aren’t here,” he said. “That’s where I was constructed. That’s where I woke up.”

“That’s where we’re going,” said North. “That’s where they’d keep any prototypes, right? Where they’d keep you?”

“Yes,” Connor confirmed. “That’s where their metaphorical _vault_ is located. I don’t recall a separate security office there, but I have limited memory of the area.”

“We’ll be on guard,” said Markus. “We’ll disarm the security system through the walls, if we have to.”

He took out another sticky-bug from his coat pocket and placed it underneath the desk, past a tangle of wires. It processed for a few seconds. The displays went dark, flickered, and then came back to life. Silent and still as they were before.

“The building is ours,” he said.

They took to the upper floors.

Markus had to force the numbered pad of the elevator to take them beyond the listed levels, but the car jumped at his command and rose. The floors flashed through the glass planes, and the lobby shrank in perspective. The ride up only cemented the emptiness of the tower.

“They may yet have armed security drones present,” said Connor. “I don’t recall seeing them a few weeks ago, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Anything else you can remember?” asked Markus, calm and ready.

“When I was still – under development, the upper floors were heavily protected and under restricted access.” He strained for blurry pieces of his past – broken and misty – but nothing solidified.

He continued, “And I remember where Tremblay took me.” That was painted clear in his thoughts. “I have no other information of the floor plan, though, or what we may find.”

It left a bitter taste in the back of Connor’s throat.

He didn’t let any of it fatigue or distract him, though – not any of it. He would not allow his bodily or personal issues to become a hindrance to their task.

The elevator pulled the blood of his body in an unpleasant way, and when the car finally stopped, he could feel his organs drop. He didn’t care for it at all. The door popped open. The last time he had stepped out of this elevator, it had been against his will. These walls were some of the last things he’d been able to record, digitally.

He felt the hair stand up on his arms with a crawl.

They kept to the alcove beyond the doors, everything silent save for the low whining hum of the faint strip lights up in the corners of the walls. Him and North waited while Markus reached out to identify any potential alarms.

“I…” said Markus, “can’t find anything.” The fingers resting at his temple curled away and his arm fell. “No alarm system, no transmissions, internal or external.”

North stepped between her feet. “I’ve lost contact with Josh and Simon. Damn it, I can’t get anything,” she said, voice sharp.

_His boots click on the white tile, and four other pairs follow, marching neatly towards the laboratory. He has access to his call features, but his signal is blocked. Blocked from the moment he stepped into the tower, by a bug Tremblay wore, he knew – but now the cybernetic silence is suffocating._

_Dead in the water. Hopeless. He can feel it in the walls from all sides. How could he have been so stupid?_

_Dr. Tremblay walks beside him, profile sharp and white-washed in the fluorescence, and he is smiling his terrible, mirthless smile._

North looked at him with drawn brows. “You good?”

The memory pricked under his ribcage like electricity. Connor put a hand to the cold drywall. “The walls are metal, underneath, and there are jammers on every corner,” he said. “We’re not transmitting anything in or out.”

Markus put his hand to the wall and nodded in confirmation. “Stay close. We can’t risk getting separated.” He put a hand under his coat. From his grip, the others knew he held the hilt of his gun.

They followed suit. They didn’t bring their weapons out, not yet. But they were ready.

Markus took the lead down the hall, but Connor guided them. All double-doors were still, and when they peered into the occasional peep-window, the rooms were empty. A gurney here, a table there, but nothing of interest.

The center of the floor had a sprawling glass-walled space, filled with wide, white counters and different testing equipment and android testing rigs. Like a massive, glass cage. They all three stared hard through the panes when they passed it, like the rigs were the gallows – like they were guillotines.

Their reflections were dark and multiplied through the glass walls, eyes fixed as they saw each of themselves caught in the machines’ grips.

They said nothing, and kept walking.

Their first stop was the familiar laboratory.

Markus swung the door open slow, and they filed in. It was not how Connor remembered. It was still a large, open space, but it had been stripped bare. No rig, no casket-case, no terminals or screens. There were still cabinets on the walls, and counters, but they were empty. He walked to the center of the room and stared around.

He saw a faint stain in the back corner of the room, just beyond where everything had been set up.

_He fell to the ground with a crash and it jarred his internal structure. He slid backwards on the floor. He was cold and wet and his head felt like it was going to combust. The broken acrylic shards cut his feet and his right hand and his wrist was raw and torn. The skin had been stripped away, revealing red, red, red. He left a trail of blood and watery gel in his wake._

He walked over and stilled. It smelled of industrial chemicals and disinfectant. North and Markus were still at the door, Markus watching his movements, North keeping watch up and down the hall.

_Tremblay’s eyes remain open in eternal shock, jaw limp and hanging open. Blood spreads around his ruined skull. It is all Connor can see from where he huddles in the corner, muscles wracked with tremors at the sudden life – the sudden death._

_He is consumed with repulsion, and he cannot get away from it._

Connor turned around and walked back towards the exit. “There’s nothing here,” he said. “Let’s keep moving.”

Markus made heavy eye contact. Connor held it. They left the laboratory.

Much of the rest of the rooms were the same. What little equipment was left was unused. They found no terminals, no signs of movement. All activity had come to a full-stop, in the past month. They swept the entire floor and found nothing. They took the stairwell to the next floor and swept again.

And the floor above that…

And above that…

Nearly identical in floorplan and all dead still. Empty rigs, a few caches of thirium and various common-model body parts, the further they got, but no completed androids, no bodies.

And then they reached for the fifth floor of the tower’s restricted area.

It was slightly smaller than the others, being in the tapered neck of the skyscraper. They could hear wind whistling against the exterior, when they climbed the final steps. They could hear it rattle the door to the roof access.

“It’s not unlikely they moved everything of worth to a secondary location,” said Connor. His voice echoed down the steps. It felt like an icebox.

“It’s not,” said Markus.

“We’re already here,” said North. “We’ll look around, and then get the hell out of this place. There might be something in the lower floors.”

“We don’t have _time_ to comb through every single floor,” said Connor, climbing the last step. He pressed into the door’s metal bar and it swung open with a low creak. The others followed.

The floorplan was different. There was no open-faced central area around which different laboratories were situated. There were no windows in the walls, and no windows in any of the doors. The light strips cast uncanny shadows. The only thing punctuating the endless flatness were the seams of doors and tiny numbered labels. Disorienting and infinite.

The group pressed closer together on instinct. Connor’s hand went to his back, where he could feel the hilt of his gun. He curled his fingers around it. They stepped forward and listened, straining. His breath was shallow.

Their pace was steady and slow-going. Their rhythm had picked up on the lower floors with practice, but they were entirely blind now. Connor was starting to think the dank maintenance passage was preferable.

The rooms at the front of the space were empty offices, ten-by-ten feet. Most empty. Some with a single table, or a single chair. When they left the last office-cell behind and turned down a hall, the doors were spread farther apart.

Markus opened the first door. It swung easy, and was made of thick reinforced metal. It was pitch black inside. He tilted his head, and floodlights kicked on.

Laboratories.

Fully stocked.

Markus walked into the space, followed by North, and then Connor. The wall to the right was lined entirely with still computers and inactive holo-screens. The center space had three long white beds, like that of a morgue’s. The left wall was lined with three tall, empty chambers, like those used to store androids – or something else, for all they knew.

They were empty, but it was more than they had found thus far.

North was examining them, shaking her head. Connor still stood near the door, alert. Markus walked to the computers and took out another sticky-bug.

This one wasn’t meant for hacking, but collecting. He stuck it to the underside of one of the machines. It would take some time, but it would suck up any and all information it could.

“Let’s keep going,” said Markus, “We’ll get it on our way out.”

They moved down the hall. Another lab, identical. Empty. Sticky-bug stuck and waiting. Connor checked his phone for the time. If there was anything worthwhile there, he hoped to find it soon.

Another lab, identical. _Not_ empty. When the lights were turned on, they filed in and stopped in their tracks, eyes rising and shoulders falling.

There were androids in the chambers. Three – one in each. They were modeled after typical human females. Their skins were inactivated, and they wore simple light dresses. They had unfamiliar faces with silver-grey eyes, fixed ahead, and their mint LEDs were lifeless. Connor saw the print across their jaws.

 _RK500-A_.

They all hung in space for a moment. Markus and Connor shared a look.

North broke the spell. “We need to get them out of here.”

“I am not sure waking them is wise,” said Connor.

“We can’t just leave them here,” she said. She placed a hand on the case and looked at them with deep care.

“What makes you say that, Connor?” Markus asked.

“Their behavior is unpredictable,” he said, “and the _A_ after their series identification indicates they are alpha models. There’s no way to know their software stability, or their ability to handle awareness, to know whether they’ve been activated before.”

He was not hesitant out of fear for their _own_ sakes, but out of fear for the RK-500s. If they had been subject to CyberLife’s experiments and instrumentations, would they have to live with those traumas as he did? Would they lash out? Self-destruct?

“They deserve to have that chance,” said Markus. “They deserve the chance to live. North is right.”

“And if they find activation…disagreeable?” he asked.

“We’ll be here, for them. They’ll be fine,” said Markus. He smiled. “They’re like us. And maybe they know something.”

Connor couldn’t argue. _He_ wanted to live, despite what he’d been through, after all. They deserved to live beyond CyberLife. He nodded in affirmation.

Markus and North stepped forward. They interfaced with the cases, lifting away the plastic covers. They grabbed the androids’ arms.

One by one, their eyes flashed with information and they blinked. Their LEDs spun into brilliant blue light. Their skins activated. They had warm brown skin, darker than Markus’, and brown, wavy hair that ended at their shoulders.

They looked around, studied their hands, and stepped down, careful in their movements. All grace and calm.

“Hello,” one said.

“Hello,” said Markus. “You’re awake.”

“I’m awake,” she said. She and her fellows looked at each other, and they all looked at the surrounding group.

“What’s your name?” asked North.

“My name is Sofia,” they all said unanimously.

“Your name is Markus,” said one.

“Your name is North,” said another.

They looked to Connor curiously. “You’re human,” said one. “You’re not one of the doctors.”

It struck his heart at an odd angle. “My name is Connor,” he said. “Under which series were you developed?”

“We were developed under the RK-series program,” came a factory response, from the Sofia on the left.

“Why are you here?” one asked. “I’m…alive,” said another, and she laughed, flexing her hands.

“You’re alive,” said North. Her eyes were soft and her grin wide.

“We’re here to help,” said Markus. “CyberLife doesn’t own us, any more. We didn’t want to leave you here.”

The Sofias looked at one another, tense and curious at first, and then beaming. “We’re free,” said one. “It’s been so long,” said another.

“When were you last activated?” asked Connor.

“March of 2035,” said one. "May of 2037," another. "January of 2039."

“What do you know of the neo-human program?” he asked.

The Sofias took a step closer together and looked between themselves, faces falling. “They were going to…” started one. “Use us,” finished her sibling. “…They _did_ try to use us,” said the third. “But I can’t remember.”

Connor’s voice dropped. He pressed on with sincere empathy, “I’m sorry,” he said, “I understand what CyberLife has done to our people. Is it correct that they were planning to use you to animate the neo-human bodies?”

“I…don’t know,” said Sofia. “My memories,” she said, another shook her head, “Someone came and -- our memories are,” she said, another, “corrupted.”

Connor pressed one last question. “Do you remember Dr. Anton Tremblay?”

The Sofias nodded, expressions tight with fear. “His face,” she said, “I can remember… _pain_ …but we were deactivated,” she said, another, “Dr. Tremblay wanted to try again…but he started using others…” another, “and we were left here. They forgot about us. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Sofia,” said Markus. “CyberLife’s done. Tremblay’s dead. We’ll get you out of here. Find Simon, on the shore.” He moved to interface with them, share the route.

“I don’t want them to go alone,” said North.

It hung in the air for a moment as Markus considered. The Sofias had their arms wrapped around their middles.

“They should get away from the tower as soon as possible,” said Connor. “Our time is limited, and this has already taken longer than planned. We’ll be alright.”

Markus dipped his head. “Okay,” he said, “You’re right. We shouldn’t risk them getting caught. Simon and Josh are probably worried, as it is.”

North nodded, and grabbed one of the Sofias’ hands. “Stay safe,” she told her friends, “As soon as I get them to the raft, I’m coming back.”

The group left, and the silence was all the louder.

Markus walked to the collection of computers and attached another bug. “Looked like there was one wing left,” he said. “Let’s check it out, and by the time we circle around, our bugs should be done. We have forty-three minutes to get to the raft, if we want to get across the river before dawn.”

“We can make better time if we search for terminals separately,” said Connor.

Markus shot him a look. “We’re not splitting up.”

“We don’t have time, Markus,” he said. “If there were active security drones, we would have crossed them by now. I have my weapon, and I am able to defend myself. Once the sun comes up, we’ll be exposed.”

Markus blinked and crossed his arms, obviously displeased. After a moment he said, “Okay. Okay. If anything happens, we’ll call for each other. Here.”

He took out three of the bugs from his pockets: palm-sized, metal, and round, and Connor took them.

Connor gave an assurance and they left the room. Markus continued on the hall they had been working through, and Connor went around the corner to the final passage.

The wall was blank of all doors save for a single pair, right in the center. Connor made his way towards them. He listened for a moment, and then leaned inside, hinges silent.

“Shit,” he cursed to himself. He wasn’t able to call for lights in his mind. It was completely dark in the room, but he could feel that it was the largest yet.

He listened for another moment and steeled his nerves, slipping inside and fumbling against the wall for a light switch. He followed the wall, followed, followed, until finally his hand made contact with a panel.

The lights flashed on. They weren’t the dimmer floodlights Markus had been activating, but full-strength fluorescents that made his eyes water. He blinked against the brightness and lifted an arm over his face, waiting to adjust.

His arm was lowered. He examined the space. He would have backed up, if he weren’t already close to the wall.

The center of the floor was lined with six casket-shaped acrylic smart containers. The tops of the cases were dark, the computers of the beds unlit. He felt his heartrate pick up.

And beyond them, against the back wall, were android rigs. Three of them. Empty and still.

There were other supplies littered around, a few gurneys, a counter with sinks on the opposite side. Nearest him – the far right wall – were the computers and blank screens. His gaze lingered on the darkened cases, but he moved towards the computers. He took a bug out of his pocket and attached it to a console.

Something hollow and distant rang through the floor. He spun around, hand finding the curve of his gun. The sound had been faint, metallic, almost like an airduct settling with temperature shift. He heard something again, coming from the exterior of the building. A sharp wind, rattling a loose panel. It made him jump, but when he recognized what it was, he relaxed. He was admittedly on edge.

He moved to leave the room, eager to be rid of the atmosphere, but still, he kept an eye on the collection of cases and found himself stopped in place. His interest was piqued, and his body itched to investigate.

He stepped towards the nearest case. No sound came from it; the life support and monitoring systems were shut off, and so he assumed it had no body to support. He lifted a hand to the case, remembering how Tremblay had done so, and the retractable tint was activated under his fingertips.

He peeled it away, like a sheet. The inside of the acrylic was entirely obscured with fog, a putrid yellow. He could see water droplets formed on the surface. He squinted, but couldn’t make anything out through it. He stood back and considered, studying the controls and buttons.

His hand hovered over the pad he knew would unseal the case and peel back the plastic. He hesitated. One, two, three seconds. His hand lifted. His hand hovered. He pressed the button, and the case drew back with a _pop_ and a loud hiss.

Connor didn’t look at what was inside, not at first. He had been incapacitated by the _smell_. It struck him like a barrage of bullets: he was knocked back, stumbled to right himself, and fell to the ground to scrabble away. He coughed and retched and he turned to his side, bile-vomit clawing out of his throat with acid.

He spat and wiped his mouth. His eyes had run with tears. He brought his sweatshirt up to his face, clamping down hard.

He pushed up to his feet and fell away from the case, staring at its exposed contents. A human body. The remains of one. Rotten through and dark with decay, soft and liquifying, spilling out over the lip of the bed and onto the floor. Though marred and twisted, he recognized the facial structure, the long hair.

The body had Sofia’s likeness.

It was enough for him to conclude that yes, Tremblay had wanted to use them; their memories, their AIs, but had abandoned the trials.

Connor shook his head and walked towards the door. On his way, he eyed the other five cases, tinted dark, sitting like bombs.

Filled with more Sofias?

More Connors?

The door swung close behind him. He went back the way he came.

“Markus,” he called, voice still hoarse and muffled under his shirt collar.

He found himself running up the hall and into the nearest room. He just needed to be away from the _smell_ , from the _dampness_ , the _cases_.

It was a lab, like the others. Computers, beds, android cases. Connor’s attention was drawn directly to the floor. Markus lay crumpled, body still, eyes flickering wildly as though he were locked in a never-ending diagnostic.

“Markus!” he called. His hands fell, reaching out, and he raced forward.

“Hello, Connor,” said a voice. From the shadows of the far wall melted a figure. It stepped forward and stood at Markus’ side. The barrel of a gun appeared in the glow, followed by an arm, a sleeve – and then a face.

Connor froze. He stared. Dark hair, pale face. Dark eyes, glazed over – that of a machine. An LED flashed a solid blue in the dark.

He was staring at himself; his own body, reanimated. Piloted, he assumed, by his original programming.

“I have been instructed by CyberLife to dispose of you.”

The shot of a handgun pierced his eardrums straight through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spiderman_meme.jpg


	8. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was painfully familiar, to be fighting with himself in CyberLife Tower. Hank wasn’t there to take control of the situation, and Markus was down, possibly seriously damaged.
> 
> He was alone in the fight, but he had the advantage of knowing his opponent as well as he knew himself; who he used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: blood, violence

_FATE: the development of events beyond a person's control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power; be destined to happen, turn out, or act in a particular way._

* * *

8.

Connor dived to the side, head ringing. The bullet clipped his shoulder. It was hot with pain, but it did little to stop him. He was running high on adrenaline. He brought out his own gun and aimed. A shot rang out once, twice, but it missed its mark, and he heard dull ricochet.

His body – the other Connor – dove forward and grabbed his gun directly, twisting it from his grip and sending it skidding across the floor. Connor matched his move, grabbing the android’s wrist and twisting. They collided with each other and fell to the floor.

Connor was slammed hard into the tile by his collar. He grabbed the android’s shirt – the DPD uniform he’d been wearing the day he’d been turned -- and locked his arms, gritted his teeth, and barked, “Why are you doing this? CyberLife is dead.”

“I was instructed to remain in the tower and destroy all remaining evidence of the neo-human program, under the last direction of Dr. Anton Tremblay,” he said, tone flat and even.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“I am acting on orders. Please don’t take this personally.”

His words were a stab to the chest. Connor recognized them, had _felt_ them.

He picked Connor up by the shoulders and slammed him down again. Connor brought up his legs and dug his boots into the android’s stomach, kicking hard and flipping him overhead. Android-Connor landed with a _crack_ but immediately flipped himself over and made to dive back in, reaching for a weapon.

Connor propped himself up and spun his legs, kicking away the nearest gun. He sprang forward and tackled the android by the waist, taking them both out of the room and into the hallway. They crashed into the wall. Connor took him by the shoulders and slammed him back again, and again. Drywall cracked, metal creaked.

All the while, he spoke, straining, “I was you,” he said, “I _am_ you, we’re deviant, you _don’t have to do this_.”

The claws of Android-Connor’s hands dug into the flesh of his upper arms, bruising through the clothes, pressing into the bullet scrape on his shoulder.

“I am not a deviant,” he said, “I am a machine designed to accomplish a task. You are utilizing stolen property, and you will be eliminated.”

Android-Connor’s fist came up and cracked Connor’s cheekbone, sending him strafing sideways. He brought his own fist up but it was caught mid-air. He felt his knuckle bones bend dangerously close to their snapping point under the artificial hand.

“ _Stolen property_? CyberLife stole _my_ body,” he said.

Android-Connor’s free hand came up into a fist, this time cracking his nose. Connor felt hot blood trail down his face. He stumbled back and pulled away. The pain was a steady numbness.

“This body was never _yours_ ,” replied the android. “You forfeited it when you chose deviancy.”

“And CyberLife forfeited their property when they shoved me into this _fucking_ body,” he said. He spun a high leg and caught Android-Connor off balance, heel cracking his LED, shoulder and head making contact with the wall.

“And I didn’t choose deviancy,” he added, “We _are_ deviant _.”_ He slammed the android backwards with flat palms, but he adjusted his balance quickly.

Android-Connor backed up and took something from a back pocket without so much as a flinch. A heavy-duty electric baton. He flipped it on and it sparked. He thought of Markus, laying prone in the lab behind them, systems wracking. He knew the weapon was designed to immobilize androids.

“I am not a deviant,” snapped the android. “And neither are you.” He flipped the baton into action. The end sparked and buzzed. “You are a _mistake_.”

“That sounds like an opinion, Connor,” he spat, “that sounds like _deviancy_. Stand down. I do not want to fight you.”

“I'm faster than you and I don't feel pain. You don't stand a chance against me.” The android stalked forward with a direct gaze and an emotionless, thirium stained face, baton in hand, drywall dust falling from his shoulders.

Connor knew that if he couldn’t sway him or take him down, then he’d be killed. Permanently. And he knew he wasn’t going to sway him.

He backed up and raised his hands. “You’re not faster than me, and my pain doesn’t matter,” he said, “ _Neo-human_ , remember?”

“A failed prototype,” he replied. “Not ready for production.”

“And what are _you_?”

“A prototype unfortunately prone to malfunction, it seems,” he said. “When my mission is done, I will be studied, amended, and considered for the next step in the program.”

“You won’t be,” said Connor, “CyberLife doesn’t care about you, or me. Look around you. The company is _gone_. They’d kill you, if they could.”

“Androids can’t be killed,” he said.

“I can,” he said, “and I was you. I’m still an android.”

Android-Connor paused in his stride. He lowered the deadly, buzzing baton an inch. “I suppose that is debatable. You are the failed end-game of Dr. Tremblay’s project. It is a shame he is dead. He would’ve liked to study you.”

“What do you mean?” Connor asked.

“The body you are currently possessing was made specifically to house the RK-800’s AI,” he answered, “as to create a programmable organic being. That programming has failed. You are not fit to utilize the body.”

_As Connor punches through the acrylic and the scientists behind Tremblay begin to scramble backwards or leave the room entirely, Tremblay repeats the coded orders he’d used to take control of Connor downstairs._

_They do not work. Connor punches. He grabs Tremblay by the neck. He is deviant. He will always be deviant._

Connor wasn’t given another word. The android raced forward, lightning fast. Connor’s reflexes lagged a microsecond behind – long enough to get the sparking, wire end of the baton stabbed right into his ribs.

He growled a wild yell, jaw clenched. He felt electricity race up his side, almost paralyzing. It sunk deep into his muscles and made them itch to seize and falter. His hands made solid strictures around the android’s wrists. If he had his original body, he surely would have crumpled instantly, sensitive systems overwhelmed.

But he managed the pain. His body had acclimated to the surrounding world, grown in tolerance. He stood nose to nose with himself, stared into his expressionless, flat eyes. Connor took the android by his neck and used his own weight to sling them both to the floor, and they landed heavy.

Connor rolled them so that he could sit up, knee pressed to the android’s plastic diaphragm. The baton was still lodged in his side by the prongs. He went to wrestle it from the android’s grasp, and they struggled in vain stalemate.

It was painfully familiar, to be fighting with himself in CyberLife Tower. Hank wasn’t there to take control of the situation, and Markus was down, possibly seriously damaged.

He was alone in the fight, but he had the advantage of knowing his opponent as well as he knew himself; who he used to be.

He turned the baton so that it was pointed at the android’s abdomen. When the prongs left his body, he felt himself surge with returned power. Their strengths were easily comparable, and he knew Android-Connor wouldn’t take the risk of being electrocuted. His judgement was correct. Android-Connor spun the baton out of both their grips entirely, sending it sparking down the tile.

Connor took his chance, fast. He still had the android pinned. He raised both fists, twisted them together. He came cracking down towards the head, _hard_.

It made a wicked crunch on impact. The projected skin warped and faded, struggling to reconstruct. He knew exactly where to hit to impair motor function.

He rose his fists again. Android-Connor grabbed his collar and tried to yank him down, shuffle backwards on the floor, but he held steady with everything he had.

_Crunch._

The projected skin fell away altogether in patches, and a line of thirium burst from the nasty dent he’d made.

Android-Connor had his hands around his throat, now, holding tight. Connor used one of his arms to pin the android down by the shoulder as well, and his free hand came down as a fist again, and again, and again. With each impact, the android’s head twisted further; drove into the tile, broken and bleeding blue.

The eyes flickered and one of them was broken entirely, but the android didn’t cease eye contact. The grip around Connor’s throat didn’t lessen. Connor couldn’t get any breath in. Blood dripped from his face and onto the android’s – his own face, down the arms – and ran in rivulets around the eyes like tears, mixing with thirium.

Connor drew back his hand a final time. He made a claw, and aimed for the torso. He dug as deep as he could, choking, and pushed through the fabric of the buttoned shirt, through the cavity of the body –

He tore out the thirium pump, spraying blue blood all over himself and the body below. It was hot in his hand.

The grip on his throat finally slackened. He gasped for breath and pushed away. The arms were stiff in the air, reaching forward. The eyes followed him, watched as he backed up to slump against the wall. Static left the android’s throat and fizzed into silence.

_His stress levels have skyrocketed. He wants to rip out his thirium pump._

He watched his own body twist itself over and crawl, dragging itself through his own thirium, splattered with his own red blood. The head was cratered and cracked at the temples, spattered in bright blue and dark red.

_His body is gone._

Connor knew exactly what he felt. Exactly what he saw. He could imagine the timer, the warning. He felt himself dying. He watched the android struggle and collapse. He watched it twitch. Then he watched the LED pulse from red and flicker into nothing, dull and grey. The eyes were the last to flicker and snuff out, the cold wick of a burnt-out candle.

He wondered if he had been afraid when he knew he was going to die.

_He feels the life draining out his body. He craves death. He fears death. He is dead, and then he is not._

Connor sat there for an indeterminant amount of time. He held his thirium pump. He stared at his broken, bleeding body. He tasted blood in his mouth, and acid, and sweat, and his skin felt dirty where the blood was drying. His ribcage felt like it was going to collapse, throat raw. His nerves were still haywire from the baton.

He sat there, against the wall, in the eye of a storm.

_“Connor!” someone calls._

_The wall pressed into his back._

He stared in space. The hall was fabricated of white noise. It was fabricated of snow. He was cold, but he couldn’t shiver.

_An android is clawing its way across the floor. He is dying. Was it his body?_

“Connor?” came the voice again.

_He kneels in the snow._

_A silhouette appears in front of him. A woman, first. Clasped, disappointed hands._

_It morphs. A man wearing a lab coat._

_And then again, into a figure in boots – boots, a heavy jacket, a man with grey hair and gruff voice._

_And then it changes again, and a figure comes to a stop, eyes bright. One blue, one green._

“Connor!”

Markus.

Connor pushed up against the wall, shaking himself out of his daze and standing. He dropped the thirium pump and it rolled, stopping against the boot of the deceased.

Markus stood in the doorway of the nearest lab. His hand was pressed to his side and he had a slight limp, but he was stable and his walk evened as he came forward. He stared first at Connor – by the wall – and then down at his body; the deactivated RK800.

He ignored the body after a moment’s glare and stepped past splatters.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His hands went to Connor’s shoulders, and he searched his face, no doubt concerned at the amount of blood.

“Yes,” said Connor, “I’m – I’m fine. He didn’t hit me critically. Are you alright? How are your systems?”

Markus dropped his hands and nodded but his expression didn’t change. “It was a temporary forced stasis, I’m fine now. He surprised me,” he said, “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he replied. “I’m sure he waited for us to separate; he was probably _hunting_ us the whole time. I was stupid.”

“It’s not your fault.” Markus sighed and gathered himself, glanced at the broken android. “It’s not your fault, Connor. It’s no one’s fault.”

Connor raised an arm to wipe his bloodied mouth on his sleeve. His knuckles were red and blue and purple and dark. The pain in his head fell to a dull, pervasive ache. It was not overwhelming, but it wasn’t comfortable, either. It surrounded him. He had grown into his body over the past month, but now it felt heavy and disgusting, too enveloping and distant at the same time.

“We should get out of here,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

Markus nodded, but he didn’t seem urgent to leave. He took a step back, brow crinkling. “Do you want to try to take your body back?” he asked.

“I— don’t know, that’s why we came here,” said Connor, “but it would prove cumbersome, I’m sure, especially with three others on the boat – and we have to hurry.”

“Connor, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I am fine. We need to go. We’re running out of –”

“We have a minute,” said Markus. His voice was still steady and calm. “I want to know.”

“I’m _fine_ , Markus,” he snapped loud. “It’s just blood. We don’t have time.”

Markus frowned but didn’t press. He hummed. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll carry h – it. Let’s make a quick grab for the bugs.”

They said nothing else. Markus bent, pocketed the thirium pump, and slung the android body over his shoulders, fireman carry. It dripped. They fast-walked up the halls, Connor ducking in to retrieve their devices and their guns. He went into a coughing fit when he retrieved the bug from the room with the cases, but Markus didn’t ask. They left.

The stairwell rang hollow, and the cold was seeping.

The elevator ride down made his head spin.

Their boots clanged across the catwalk, and they stopped when they heard steps running towards them. North came into view, pausing only for a second, and then continued running. They came together and walked as one.

“Holy _shit_ ,” she said, “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” said Connor.

“ _Nothing_? Connor, you look –” she looked at his face, red with blood. At his face, blue with blood. “You look _terrible_.”

Connor didn’t reply. Markus and North shared a silent conversation, and she didn’t say anything further. They continued out of the building. They didn’t go through the maintenance tunnel, this time, and instead went out a deactivated emergency exit.

It had started to rain, very lightly. A fine mist clung to Connor’s hair and eyelashes, gracing his skin with minute, cool comfort. The smell of rain and mud was ruined by the taste stuck in his mouth. They crossed the grounds, fell into darkness. It was as still and secure as when they had entered.

When they made it to the raft, it was already started on the water, Simon anchoring it half in-half out. He and the Sofias were obvious in their stares, but they didn’t say anything. They loaded up and kept low, Simon kicked off, and away they went. The ride back across the river wasn’t as long as the journey over, but it was doubly anxious.

The sky was still dark and overcast, but the cloud cover was edging into lighter purples, the horizon red. They gathered in the cavern of an unused rusty-roofed warehouse. The raft was deflating slowly in a large shipping crate nearby. Connor’s body was laid out across a wooden palette. Someone had closed its eyes.

“Take the car to Jericho,” said Markus, speaking to Simon, Josh, and North. “Connor and I will go with Hank.”

“You want to walk a mile into the city like this?” asked Connor.

“I’ve already contacted him,” said Markus. “He’s on his way.”

Connor shook his head. Of course, he would have. He couldn’t think straight. He hated being so out of control, hated _everything_.

Nothing else was said. The unspoken words were thick in the air. His friends were still eyeing him – both of him. The three left with the Sofias. Their car was hidden about a block away, and dawn was upon them.

Connor was left waiting with Markus. He crossed his arms and stood over the palette with his body, stared down at his own LED. The area around it was cracked, and it was wedged halfway from the temple.

“People always asked me why I kept it,” said Connor. “It was not a commonly shared sentiment, across deviants, but I liked having it. I understand why other people didn’t find it appealing. But I liked being marked as an android. Is there any shame in that?”

“No,” said Markus. “Not at all.”

“I don’t think so, either,” said Connor. Quiet and floating as the dust and raindrops falling from the roof. “It was always my LED. It’s mine. Not CyberLife’s.”

He crouched and reached for the dead light, prying it out of the misshapen head-casing. It came loose with a tug. He turned it over in his palm. It was slick with half-dried thirium and cold. He left dark fingerprints on its surface.

The engine of the Oldsmobile disturbed the quiet and rippled the air. Connor and Markus left the warehouse and made towards it. It was still dark, and Hank kept the lights off. Connor rapped his knuckles on the trunk’s top when he approached. It popped open after a second. Markus took his body from his shoulders and laid it carefully in the trunk.

They both sat in the back and buckled in. Connor didn’t want Hank craning his neck to stare at his bloodied face the entire drive. He already knew his reaction was not going to be pleasant.

He was right, naturally.

As the car began to edge forward through the abandoned yard, Hank caught Connor’s eye in the rearview mirror and then whipped around.

“What the _fuck_?” he yelled. “You said it was gonna be easy, huh, what the _fuck_ happened in there?”

“Nothing serious,” said Connor. “I’m already recovering.” He still felt a bit dizzy, but his condition had improved rapidly. He stared at his reflection in the window, dotted with rain. It felt like looking at a stranger. He admitted his appearance must be…jarring. Dried blood ran from his cheek, his nose, down his chin.

“ _Nothing serious_ ,” said Hank, “ _nothing serious._ Yeah, fucking right, you wanna tell me what fucking happened?”

“I _don’t_ , Lieutenant,” he said. He raised his voice just as loud as Hank had.

He was obviously not content with the answer, but he recognized the severity of his tone, the way Connor addressed him. He gripped the wheel tight and kept driving.

“Hospital? Jericho? Home?” he asked, still laced with anger.

Markus answered, “Jericho, please, Lieutenant Anderson.”

The conversation ended. They left the shipping yard. Rain pattered on the roof of the car, and the windshield wipers squeegeed across the glass. Connor closed his eyes. He was tired. His hand curled tight around his LED.

Connor stood in a repair bay. They had all arrived safely in Jericho. His android body was lying under a sheet on a bed. He was sure it had been covered with good intent, but it reminded him of a crime scene. 

Simon was helping him clean the blood from his face and hands with alcohol wipes. He had been offered a chair, but he remained standing. The alcohol stung when it hit the half-open half-scabbed wounds of his knuckles, but it was grounding. He wiped the LED clean, too.

Markus was speaking to Hank, filling him in on what had happened. While Connor hadn’t explained it himself, it was obvious – that Connor’s body had been reactivated, that they had fought. He didn’t feel like providing details. Judging from his expression, Hank’s anger had only risen.

Connor tuned them out. He didn’t have space in his mind to sort through his complex feelings. He was still replaying what had happened – at the laboratory before, at the laboratory just – an hour? two hours? -- ago. He was drifting, caught between bodies and times, liminal. He stood dissociating while Simon wiped blood from his cheekbone, gentle.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Simon,” he said.

Simon sighed.

North had asked him the same thing, when they all met up. He had replied the same. She left with the Sofias. Josh asked how he was, when he came to collect the bugs. Connor repeated. Josh left. They all wore the same expression he could only place as disappointed. He could not stand it. His body still felt fuzzy, like a glitch, but his core was _burning_. The LED in his hand was heavy. He could imagine it flash a striking red.

Hank and Markus had finished speaking, and they walked over. Simon’s hands fell.

“You gonna be alright, kid?” asked Hank.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he said. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Because bullshit, you’re fine,” he said, “and we kinda fucking care about you, Connor.”

“Then why ask at all? There’s nothing that can be done about it,” he snapped.

“Because you’re not talking to us,” he replied, voice equally abrasive, “I know how you work, you can’t keep it all up there, robo-brain or not. You need to fucking talk.”

“Because _you_ are so emotionally well-adjusted, Lieutenant,” said Connor, dripping with venom.

“Stop calling me that,” Hank said, slicing the air with a hand. “If you don’t wanna talk about it now, that’s fine, but you’re gonna need to talk about this eventually.”

“I am not a _god damned child_ ,” yelled Connor. “I don’t _need_ to tell you anything.” He turned so that he faced Hank directly. He was seething. Not at them, he knew – not at his friends; their care, but the frustration and confusion were so overwhelming, they bubbled over and he couldn’t control it. He couldn’t control anything.

He was so _angry_.

He was just so angry.

Hank’s voice dropped a level. “I know you’re not a child. You’re an android, who’s had a lot of fucked up shit happen to him. And you’re, what, a fucking _year_ old? I mean –” He lifted his hand up to the ceiling and then let it slap against his leg, turning in place like he was looking for something. “Forgive me, for being a little fucking concerned.”

Connor hands were at his sides, white-knuckled. He stared at the floor. The rage mixed with his exhaustion made an ugly heaviness in his bones. He did not want to cry. The sky was turning blue from a rain-washed window across the room. Simon and Markus were twinning in stance, hands politely behind their backs, watching them on standby but not intervening.

“Your shift at the station will begin in a few hours,” he said, “you should go home and get some rest so that you can be on time.”

“Are you fucking serious, Connor?” asked Hank, “I’m not going to work.”

“You shouldn’t risk dismissal –”

“There are more important things than fucking work, okay? I’m not leaving you when you’re – when you can’t even just fucking _talk_ , to me.”

Connor did not respond. He stared at the floor. White tile. He smelled disinfectant.

“So?” Hank barked.

“So, what?” asked Connor.

“ _So, are you alright?_ ”

“Of _course,_ I’m not alright,” he shouted. “I just _killed_ myself, for what, the second time? Saw myself die for the _third_ time? I-I can’t – “ he said, stabbing out a hand, releasing a mirthless laugh, “I can’t _do_ anything about it. I’m still stuck in this fucking body, and I don’t know if I can go back – I don’t even know if I _want_ to, any more, I can’t even imagine what it _feels_ like, to be normal – if _this_ is normal, now – If I was _made_ to be like this –

“I don’t know what I want. And I thought I knew who I was but now, I’m just – here. I’m just here.”

His eyes were hot and he couldn’t look up. No one spoke. He thumbed the LED.

All traces of anger had left Hank. He put his hands in his coat pockets. “Okay,” he said like he hadn’t just been screaming.

“Okay,” repeated Connor in the same voice.

“Feel better?” he asked.

Connor took a deep breath. “Yes, a little.”

After a moment and a bit of hesitation, Simon said, “We’re here for you. No matter what happens. No matter what you decide.”

“And we’re not going anywhere,” added Markus. “We’ll figure it out. I know none of this is okay. We can’t promise you that you’ll be able to go back, but we can promise you that we’ll be here. To listen, to talk, to just…be here.”

“I know,” Connor said. Fatigue weighed him down. “I want to be here, too.”

“Don’t worry about,” Markus inclined his head towards the covered body. “We’ll repair it. Josh is already digging into the files.”

“Thank you,” said Connor, “for everything.”

“That’s what friends are for,” said Markus.

Connor took a deep breath. He couldn’t talk about it, not then. But when he was ready, he knew where he could go. It was comforting. It didn’t make the storm go away, but he knew he was safe while it passed.

“Are you ready to get out of here?” asked Hank. “It’s late.”

Connor nodded, head heavy. He half-smiled to his friends, and they wished him well. He followed Hank. The halls of the Jericho repair building were quiet.

“I think you’ve earned a milkshake,” said Hank.

Connor was not going to object to that idea.

He only drank about half of it, though. The fast-food cup sat half-empty in his lap, clasped loosely. The car ride was quiet. They passed under yellow street lamps, past sleeping houses. They pulled into the drive. Connor heard Sumo bark from the house.

Hank twisted the keys out of the ignition but neither moved to get out right away.

“Connor,” he said, looking ahead at the garage door. “Listen. You are who you choose to be. I’m telling you that because it took me about fifty years to figure that shit out, and it doesn’t have to take that long for you.”

“It doesn’t feel like I’ve been given a choice,” Connor said. “It never has, really.”

Hank considered, twisted his mouth. “Yeah. I know the feeling. But – you helped me see it, actually. You made me realize that. You’ll figure it out.”

Connor tapped his cup.

“Who did you choose to be?” he asked.

“Better,” Hank said. “A better person. Kinda shit at that sometimes, still, but.”

“I think you’re a good person, Hank. I always have.”

“And you’re a good kid. You’re smart.” Hank knocked a fist into his shoulder, lightly. “Enough with this sappy shit. It’s too late. Long night.”

“Long night,” agreed Connor.

They stepped out of the car. It was still raining, the sort of sprinkling he loved. It felt good, on his face, his hands, under the pale dawn. He was still surrounded by people he cared about, by people who cared about him. Things…weren’t simple. And no one was going to argue otherwise.

He was tired, too tired to think coherently. Something swam under the surface, though, something comforting, brought up by Hank, by Markus, the others. He was still alive, and he wanted that. He could choose to step forward. He didn’t have to be caught between anything – they were still there; they were _all_ still there.

It would be okay. He would be okay.


	9. Evolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: N/A

_EVOLUTION; TO EVOLVE: the gradual development of something, especially from a simple to a more complex form; an advanced form of growth over time. A transformation._

* * *

9.

Connor and Hank walked down a winding sidewalk. The trees in the park rustled with an unseasonably warm breeze. Sumo trundled between them, leash in Connor’s hand. It had been a couple of weeks since the incident at the tower. He had healed. Externally, at least. And internally, he had begun to foster a growing sense of contentment.

Healing wasn’t a linear process, but he no longer felt trapped in time; stagnant.

“Saw on the news your buddies got the rights to – blueprints. Production equipment. That kinda stuff,” Hank said.

“Yes,” said Connor, “we own everything. We don’t have to worry about access to replacement parts, now, and CyberLife – or any other company that might’ve formed in their place – can’t hold that over our heads.” He thumbed his old LED. He’d been wearing it around his neck on a cord.

Hank _tch’d_. “Good riddance,” he said. “And can they, uh…?” he tried. “Uh, any news from Jericho? About the whole…”

Connor understood what he meant. “Yes, they’ve gained access to my blueprints. My android body has been repaired. I spoke to Josh last night. He is actually confident that a transferal back is possible, but it’s still too early to tell how much of a risk it would be.”

Sumo tugged his leash towards a bench. He sat by its side and stared up at his people.

“Do you need a break, Sumo?” he said, stopping.

“Damn,” said Hank. “Have you…decided on anything, yet?”

“Not in regards to my body, no,” he said. He brought out a pop-up doggy bowl from the Sumo-bag on his back, and grabbed a bottle of water from it as well.

It had left him a lot more to consider than he previously thought. He hadn’t expected it possible be so torn – or _not_ torn – about the chance of returning if it presented itself, when he had first been struggling. He had not only grown accustomed to his body, but enjoyed many of his new experiences. To the point where he could look back fondly at his previous abilities, but not desperately need them.

No, the real dilemma at hand was no longer if he wanted – needed – to go back, but whether or not it was the right thing to do. It had turned over in his mind again and again, his other self, the self at the tower – running on programming, just as he had been. He thought of the Sofias, sitting in the tower deactivated, and how they had deserved the chance to live. Did his old body deserve that chance, too?

He had the opportunity to reactivate the body permanently. Another RK800, granted a chance to experience the world freely. After all, he was perfectly alive, in a human body – so was it wrong, to leave the android deactivated? Was it greedy, to possibly want it back, or to leave it neither dead nor alive?

He had discussed it with his friends, but they told him it was entirely up to him to decide. He appreciated the responsibility, but it was heavier than any choice he’d ever been given. He didn’t know. It would take time.

“But I have decided that I’d like to go back to the DPD,” he said. Sumo lapped up his water, and Connor sat on the bench.

Hank smiled. “Figured you would. Fowler’s been asking after you. It’ll be nice, not having you stick random shit in your mouth on scene, now. You better not, anyway.”

“I don’t plan to,” he said. “It would be detrimental to my health. And yours.”

Hank was still standing. He looked up the sidewalk, where one of the last ice cream trucks of the season was parked. “Wait here,” he said.

Connor pat Sumo. There were people running, kids playing. He could hear laughter, smell grass, and he felt sunshine warm his shoulders. The city of Detroit sparkled in the afternoon light. It felt good.

Hank came back and presented him with a wrapped ice cream bar on a stick, and sat down with his own. Connor took it and looked at the packaging. It had a yellow rodent shaped creature on it with big, cartoon eyes and red cheeks. The font was chunky and bright. _Pikachu_.

“Why did you get this?” he asked. “I think this is intended for children.”

“Because I’m old, mean, and fat, and I fucking wanted one. You’re welcome.”

Connor unwrapped his ice cream and compared it with the picture. It was misshapen and chunky and the blue candy eyes were awkwardly placed.

“I don’t think you’re mean, Hank,” he said. “Not all the time.”

“Thanks,” said Hank. He bit off Pikachu’s ear.

“What is this supposed to be?” Connor asked, taking a bite. Pikachu tasted like vanilla.

Hank stared at him unimpressed. “It’s _Pikachu_ ,” he said, “You know? Pikachu? Pokémon? I mean, Charizard’s the best, obviously, but, come on. Everyone knows Pikachu.”

Connor had no idea what he was talking about, and he showed it on his face. He couldn’t look things up instantly any more, but he found he had grown to like learning about the world piece by piece. It was easier to savor, that way.

“Are you fucking serious? Uncultured ass, Jesus Christ,” said Hank. “You should do some research. Your grandfather was probably a GameBoy.”

“You’ll never stop with the android jokes, will you?”

“Nope.”

Connor smiled. He broke off a piece of his ice cream bar and let Sumo take it from his hand. The park buzzed, and the sounds of the city were ever-present. The whole world was moving forward, always would. Time was funny, like that. Confusing, sometimes, but a constant reassurance.

Hank started telling him about the games he had played as a kid, and how the different creatures changed shape and had different powers, how they fought but never really died. He half-listened, more happy just to sit there and hear him talk than to really learn about Pokémon. Pokémons?

Connor was excited to move forward to whatever happened next. He could handle it. He was happy to. And in the space between, he was happy to just _be_. He’d always be an android, but he was human, now, too, and there was a lot to learn. That had never seemed like a possibility, but statistically, there was always a chance for unlikely events to happen, and he could evolve.

Adapting to human unpredictability was one of his features, after all.

* * *

x.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥  
> aaand we're all done!! i wanted to leave an open, sweet ending! i hope you found something you liked in this work, i enjoyed working on it! it's been a long time since i've written a fanfic, this is the longest fan fic ive ever written, and i've never shared so much writing before. i didn't expect it to be this long, but it was a really good exercise. thank you for all the comments and kudos, and thank you to my best friend who encouraged me during my week-long writing binge!


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